


Time is a game played beautifully

by Little_Lottie (tfwatson), tfwatson



Series: Time is a Game [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Demon Bucky Barnes, Forbidden Game book AU, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Inhuman!Bucky, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Past Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Phobias, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Torture, Violence, endgame stucky not stony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:17:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 70,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7830136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwatson/pseuds/Little_Lottie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwatson/pseuds/tfwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tasked with the seemingly simple job of buying a game for Tony's birthday, Steve hadn’t expected to find himself lost in a sinister backstreet, or stumbling across a captivating games store that Clint swears blind no longer exists. He certainly isn’t prepared for the unmarked onyx box that practically vibrates in his palms, or the stunning man that sells it to him.</p><p>Drawn to Bucky's beauty and mercurial temper, Steve feels a magnetic attraction that follows them into the game itself.</p><p>* COMPLETE * (Chapter 14 is a place for me to add links to sequel snippets, reference pics and poetry that inspired the story)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Game ID

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bearception](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearception/gifts).



> This is based on a fictional fantasy trilogy I was obsessed with as a teenager (still am, shhh): The Forbidden Game by LJ Smith. While this is based on the concept of these books, there are some elements of the story that are similar and others that are very different. It will be darker and will have sexual content. If you want to check any triggers with me (whatever they may be) before reading, just drop me a line on Tumblr (link in end notes)
> 
> This is Endgame Stucky (not Stony). At the beginning of the story Steve and Tony are really good friends who have fallen into a relationship but are drifting apart.  
> 

~

 _'Val thought that the real problem with games was that the player was supposed to try everything. If there was a cave, you went in it. If there was a mysterious stranger, you talked to him. If there was a map, you followed it. But in games, you had a hundred million billion lives and Val only had this one.'_  

\- Holly Black

_~_

 

Steve surveyed the neglected, shadowy street with a rising sense of unease. He’d never admit it, but Clint might’ve been right. Of all of Steve’s ill-conceived ideas, this one was fast-tracking its way right to the top of the list. Even the abandoned buildings, world weary and indifferent, seemed to agree.

 

Groaning, Steve put his pride aside and consulted his phone for directions. It was a relief to turn his back on the once loved shops, their boarded up windows now permanently shuttered on empty sidewalks. Even with his eyes on his phone, Steve could still feel them standing firm in their united disenchantment with the world.

 

On reflection, this bull in a china shop approach probably wasn’t the best strategy. Not when Steve was already feeling anxious. Not when he didn’t have to look at his watch to know that time was slipping away from him. Before long he’d have an apartment full of guests and no entertainment to offer.

 

Thumbing through his phone, he saw Clint try to hide a triumphant fist pump.

 

“God, finally,” his friend huffed next to him. “The sooner we get there, the sooner you’ll see that the store’s shut down and that you should’ve listened to me and gone to the mall.”

 

Steve glanced back up at the street sign, hoping that he’d misread it the first three times. It was entirely possible — the letters were barely legible — but he hadn’t, and the words hadn’t magically changed in the last thirty seconds either. Steve had led them into this desolate, soul destroying looking place, and he still wasn’t entirely sure how to get them out of it.

 

“I hate the mall,” he said, eyes flicking from his screen to the seemingly endless road ahead which looked nothing like the main intersection he wanted it to be. “And I need a game.”

 

“You sound like an addict,” Clint smirked, circling in front of him. Steve must have looked as harassed as he felt because Clint’s face softened. He clapped a comforting hand to Steve’s shoulder, wordlessly asking if he was okay. Steve exhaled a slow shaky breath and counted on the inhale until he could look up from the filthy asphalt and offer Clint a small smile in return.

 

God, this was such a depressing place. It had probably been bustling and lively at the beginning of its doomed fairy tale, but Steve and Clint had crossed paths with only a couple of other people, and they’d seemed in a hurry to pass through. Steve got the sense that if a place could speak, this one would be bitterly muttering, _who cares_.

 

Even the shade was disobliging, doing nothing to ease the intensity of the heat. The air still felt cloying and sticky, dark clouds swarming in and reminding Steve that in better weather the party he was on a mission for would have been held at Tony’s parents, with a pool and a raid on his dad’s liquor cabinet. But the thunderstorms were rolling in and it was obvious that a pool party would be a wash out. Steve’d been trying to save the day when he’d suggested having the party at his apartment. The apartment that he’d always thought was in the worst part of town. Looking around himself, he could appreciate that he’d been entirely wrong about that too.

 

He shivered despite the heat and turned his phone upside down to see if it made more sense that way. “I’ve done orienteering. A street map with verbal instructions really shouldn’t be beyond my capabilities.”

 

“Look,” Clint said with a put-upon sigh. “I know Tony wanted a games night. And you, being you, took that as a challenge, but I’m pretty sure he won’t care if there’s no grand surprise.” His illustrative hand gestures, presumably meant to mimic a magic trick, would be amusing in any other situation... in any other _place_.

 

Steve scoffed in disagreement. “For a start, this is Tony. He’ll not only want, but will expect, a grand surprise. It’s also his birthday and I’m his boyfriend,” Steve said, eyes imploring in Clint’s direction. “You see where I’m going with this... he will definitely care if his party is boring. And it will all be on me.”

 

The past year had been hard. For Tony, for Steve, for them as a couple. They’d been drifting like boats tethered together; Steve happily rolling through Tony’s bow wave until rougher waters stretched and wore their rope to breaking. If they were going to make this work, they both had to make an effort. It might be a small thing, but if Steve gave up on this, it would feel like giving up completely.

 

He started walking again, amused that Clint had to step a little faster to keep up with his longer strides. The sound of their hurried footsteps was loud in the otherwise muted street.

 

“Fine,” Clint agreed, panting. “But most people would buy Cluedo and be done with it. You,” he points for emphasis, “have brought us to these fucking creepy back streets to look for a games store — which, I repeat, has shut down _—_ to find a weird game just to please Tony who’d be quite happy with a bottle of Vodka and Truth or Dare.”

 

Steve paused in his assessment of the crossroads ahead to glare at his friend.

 

Clint grinned, unaffected. “If this is a reflection on your sex life, I feel for you.”

 

“I’ve already ordered the game, I just need to pick it up,” Steve said, ignoring Clint's comment. “I’d have heard if the store went out of business.” He sounded far more confident than he felt. “And,” he added, giving Clint a pointed look, “Nat said you’d help.”

 

Clint looked genuinely concerned for a second, possibly worried Steve would report back, before he held out two placating hands. “I swear I’m not being an asshole. The store is definitely shut down. My cousin used to go there and he’s been ranting about it for days.”

                                       

Steve closed his eyes and tried to roll out some of the tension from his shoulders. He knew he shouldn’t be worked up about a party game, but this place put him on edge. He just needed to get the game and get the hell out.

 

“Come on,” Clint said. “Let’s just go back to yours. Everyone will come over, we’ll get drunk and play I Never like we always do.”

 

“But we already know everyone’s I Nevers,” Steve groaned, pretty close to a whine. When he looked away from Clint’s exasperated expression, almost resigned but too stubborn to admit it, he noticed an alley he hadn’t seen before. “Let’s try here.”

 

As they got nearer and his eyes adjusted to the gloom, several small stores came into focus. For the most part, the buildings looked as derelict as the ones on the main street with their crumbling brick and rotten wood, poised to collapse, as though the only thing keeping them standing was habit. But one stood out above all the others. Not just because its frontage was such a stark contrast to its neighbouring stores that it almost shimmered, but because its two front windows were packed top to bottom with board games. Steve almost dropped his phone in relief.

 

Under looping gold writing which proclaimed the store to be called Kingmaker, Steve’s eyes roamed over colourful boxes of Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, Trivial Pursuit, and Scrabble. At this point, Steve would settle for Scrabble, and gladly if it meant he could get home before his friends arrived. But the sign promised _more games_ and Steve couldn’t have been more delighted.

 

He looked over at Clint’s comically astounded expression and let out a breathless laugh as he reached out and took the door knob in his hand. It was cool and smooth and it turned in his grasp, eager in its anticipation, and the door swung ajar. “It’s open.”

 

Clint frowned. “I hate that you’re too good to say I told you so.”

 

Steve grinned at him and tried to ignore the scurry of a rat disarmingly close to his feet.

 

“I definitely heard it was shut down,” Clint muttered.

 

Steve smiled because they say _he’s_ stubborn. “So maybe someone else took it on?”

 

Still looking unsure, Clint ducked into a questionable looking record store opposite and agreed to meet Steve back in the alley when they were done.

 

Bolder in his relief and feeling the pressure of time slipping away, Steve burst through the door of the game store. 

 

At his first glimpse of what waited on the other side, Steve’s smile died on his lips, body slowing in its movements until it was only his momentum keeping him moving across the threshold.

 

**Notes:**

  * The name of the games store is based on the gaming term: _Kingmaker -_ _a player, himself in a losing position, that has the power to decide who will win a given game_ ([source](http://boardgamegeek.com/wiki/page/glossary))
  * Please kudos or comment if you’re enjoying this! If you have any questions or want to get in touch, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/little-lottie)




	2. Opener

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has given kudos, commented or bookmarked. Please see notes and tags on Chapter 1 and a few extra notes at the end of this chapter.

_~_  
  
_'The sweetest smiles hold the darkest secrets.'_

\- Sara Shepard, Flawless  
  
~  
  
  
Steve looked around in complete awe, mouth open and eyes wide.  The inside of the games store was so far removed from the misery and paranoia of the street outside that he let out a breathless laugh.

 

Somewhat unsurprisingly, the walls were packed floor to ceiling with boxes, playing pieces and boards. There were games here that he recognized but there were more he didn’t, and the sense of discovery had excitement jumping through his body from head to toe.

 

His eyes roamed greedily across the shelves. Dimmed lamps were set on almost every flat surface, casting a soft glow on gaming boards of varying sizes and shapes. Some of the boards looked rudimentary and plain, others ornate. There was even a triangular shaped one, with playing pieces in gold leaf and silver gilt. Another seemed to be an ancient Indian game of Chutes and Ladders, every square a new pastel colored picture of a bejeweled elephant or exotic flower with menacing cobras writhing over them.

 

The next display that caught his eye was a centuries old stone slab with smaller palm sized tablets etched with runes. It reminded him of magical stories his mother used to read him. Tales of mages, charms and spells, distant lands and legends. Aligned universes; a pebble skimmed in one realm, causing ripples in another.

 

There were even game platforms of bright fabrics, hanging from the ceiling and silky against his fingertips. The room felt strange and ethereal, but as homely and safe as an old, familiar library. The mix of the two had the feeling of a calculated risk that should have sent Steve’s anxiety soaring, but just had him mesmerized.

 

He could have been looking around for minutes or hours, but he knew that even if he stayed all evening he still wouldn’t be able to take everything in. And even if he could, he didn’t _have_ all evening. Sobered by the thought, it dawned on him that he hadn’t seen anyone else in the store, let alone someone that worked there. He was just about to call out when he caught sight of a familiar painting on the wall. Volumes of books and pieces of art adorned shelves and walls everywhere, but this piece was very, very different. 

 

A cold hard coil of unease tugged at his stomach. He squinted against the curling smolder of incense smoke, and gasped, heart suddenly hammering when he realized why the painting was so familiar. It looked _exactly_ like his high school art project. Which was impossible, only... the subject of the painting was the same hidden part of Brooklyn that he’d chosen so carefully for his piece, the colors were faded in the same saturation he’d used, and the perspective was indistinguishable from Steve’s own asymmetric style. It was identical in every way.

 

Steve had received such fantastic praise for that piece and he’d made his mother so proud, but it wasn’t really worth anything and his mom would never have sold it anyway. Drawn a couple of stumbling steps towards it, he blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the initials at the bottom of the painting.

 

Before he could get close enough, a noise startled him. A low rumbling growl, and his heart leapt into his throat. Suddenly realizing he wasn’t alone, he spun around to see a dog watching him not a meter away. In his shock Steve thought it was a wolf and he jumped back, knocking a vintage looking wooden chess set scattering to the floor in a series of thuds. Once he’d steadied the game and was sure it wasn’t going to start a dramatic domino of displays throughout the store, he could see that it was actually a husky.

 

It stood, strong and calm, its ruffled top coat a marbled mix of black and white. She was a beautiful creature, and Steve would’ve been sure she was a show dog but for a piece of her left ear missing. It suited her, like she owned the imperfection; a survivor’s battle scar.

 

Steve exhaled. “Hey there,” he murmured inching carefully towards her. “Where’s your owner, huh?”

 

Dark brown almond shaped eyes assessed him calmly as he stroked her. She was so distracting, Steve had almost forgotten the painting. He turned to face the wall again, because he was sure he must have been seeing things — the heady floral scent from the incense getting to him — and if there was a different painting in its place then Steve wouldn’t have been surprised. Only, there wasn't a painting at all. Just a blank space on the faded ochre matt of the wall.

 

“What the hell?”

 

Steve felt the sudden adrenaline-induced desire to bolt and backed up quickly towards the door. Everything about this place suddenly felt off. The door knob was pressed to the small of his back and he was reaching for it when he heard a silky male voice, seemingly calling out of nowhere.

 

“Sorry to make you wait.”

 

When the man behind the voice appeared around the towers of stock, the greeting Steve had ready on the tip of his tongue froze in his mouth. Standing right in front of him was undoubtedly the most attractive man he'd ever seen. Steve’s breath caught, and for the life of him he couldn’t stop staring. He remained silent and wide-eyed, taking in pretty bowed lips, the curve of a strong jaw line and striking blue eyes. The man was breathtaking. And Steve was suddenly, uncomfortably, hot.

 

“She’s called Hunter,” the man said in the same melodic voice, which had Steve far more interested than he’d normally be in a dog’s name. As Steve watched, he lifted his shoulder in a slow shrug. “It’s a bit obvious,” the brunet added with a secretive looking smile, “but she is.”

 

Steve’s forehead creased. “What? A hunter?”

 

The man grinned, suddenly and all teeth. “Yes.”

 

Under appraising eyes, Steve had the feeling he’d passed a test. He tried not to feel unduly pleased with himself, but in the same vein as the everything else this afternoon, he found himself failing. After only a couple of seconds the assistant’s shark smile disappeared. It was replaced with a slightly tamer, but no less irresistible, curl of lips.

 

“Magnificent, isn’t she?”

 

“Beautiful,” Steve managed to breathe out, not breaking eye contact.

 

The man smirked and Steve blushed with embarrassment. He knew he should look away and break the intimacy, but his eyes seemed utterly opposed to the idea. Steve swallowed hard as wintery blue eyes held his gaze.

 

At that moment the shrill chime of Steve's phone alarm sounded out, a reminder of why he was there, and a terrible feeling of guilt swirled in his stomach.

 

“I, umm... need to pick up a game,” he muttered, swiping his alarm silent.

 

The guy spread out his elegant hands, indicating their surroundings as though to rather sarcastically say, _'ta da'_.

 

Steve narrowed his eyes at him. “No, I mean, I’ve ordered a game.”

Shit, this guy was a jerk. And dammit Steve liked that too.

 

The man took a few steps closer to Steve and into the light from the window. Steve hadn’t remembered seeing any stained glass from the outside, but the beam was fractured into colored shafts, dust dancing in the streams of honey and lilac, rose and fire.

 

The man was about Steve’s age, and he was almost as tall. He was wearing all black, a silver chain around his neck with a small talisman, a silver cuff around his left wrist and several leather bracelets on the right. His skinny jeans were exactly that, and the way they hugged his thighs looked obscenely good. Steve bit back a groan of dismay when he felt his body stir at the sight, shifting against his pants which were starting to feel a fraction too tight.

 

“Do you have an order number?”

 

The assistant was all business now and Steve felt equal parts disappointed and relieved. On autopilot, he handed over the reservation receipt from his pocket and the man wandered over to a desk that Steve had been too preoccupied to notice before.

Steve’s attempt to keep his eyes resolutely fixed to the floor failed within five seconds, and before he even realized he was doing it, he was staring again.  
  
As the man worked on a tablet, stray strands of his short hair fell across his forehead; waves of chocolate and sun lightened sections of salted caramel, so messy that Steve could vividly imagine tangling his fingers into it. He could feel the strands waterfalling through his fingers, could picture grabbing a fist full of it and tugging that pretty head back for a kiss. Shit, what the hell was wrong with him?

When Steve met the man’s eyes again, he was mortified to see him staring back. The brunet raised his eyebrows and smirked, looking like he knew exactly what Steve was thinking. And was delighted about it.

 

Wincing, Steve tore his eyes away quickly, fidgeting with the hem of his old t shirt and wishing he’d made more of an effort that morning. He cleared his throat and spoke into the awkward silence. “My friend didn’t think this place existed anymore.”

 

The guy looked up at him, his expression completely blank, and said nothing. He was looking at Steve so intently it was as though he wanted him to know that he was being deliberately ignored.

 

Without a word, he looked back down at his tablet. “Aah, here it is,” he said as he presumably pulled up the order. All of a sudden he snorted and looked up at Steve with an unimpressed look. “Carcassonne?” He stated. “Really?”

 

 

Incredulous, Steve almost laughed.  _What a little shit._  He was so busy trying to decide whether he should feel more annoyed than amused that he missed the guy’s next words. It certainly sounded a lot like, “How disappointing.”

 

“I tried other stores, but they’d sold out,” Steve explained. It was the answer to the question he’d been expecting to hear, and not really relevant in the face of this snarky sales assistant, but he felt like he had to say something.

 

“I see.”                                                            

 

Steve frowned, wishing he wasn’t so unsettled by this guy’s judgment. “It beats playing strip Twister again,” he added defensively.

 

“Does it?” The guy’s tone was light and innocent, but his eyes were dark and sinful.

 

Steve watched as a second later the mischief was gone.

 

“Well, it hasn’t arrived yet,” the guy concluded, putting the tablet down and sounding completely unbothered.

 

Steve groaned. “Please tell me you’re kidding?”

 

The man tilted his head, expression bored, and remained silent; it was immensely infuriating.

 

“I really need a game that my friends and I haven’t played before,” Steve said, trying not to panic as he felt the air press down against him. 

 

He thinks about his friends, of the perfect game. Tony would want something clever, Sam something tactical, Peggy something sophisticated, Clint something fun, Nat something... “Okay. I need clever, tactical, sophisticated, fun, and dangerous.”

 

Quick as a flash, the man looked playful again, and Steve half expected him to say something lame like: _“Can’t make tonight, sorry”_ , but it’s clearly too much to ask that this guy has a fault that will make Steve stop wanting him.

 

“Of course,” he said instead, as though he was always planning on being this helpful. Steve watched him make his way to a shelf which was overflowing with draught counters in a multitude of colors. “Carcosonne would _not_ have cut it by the way.”

 

Steve sighed heavily, but was ignored.

 

“My name’s James,” the man said over his shoulder. “I thought you should know.”

 

Why he should know, Steve had no idea, but as oddly phrased as the statement was, everything about Steve’s afternoon had been odd. And Steve’d always known when to pick his battles.

 

“James,” he found himself echoing. He’d never really had an opinion about the name before, but the way this guy said it, and the way is seemed to fit him like a glove gave him a new appreciation for it.  “Not as simple as ‘Hunter’, then?”

 

James let out a surprised little laugh then bit down on his plush lower lip. The sight sent another shot of lust through Steve’s body, making him feel light headed.

 

“Not simple,” James said, “but not complicated either. It means _‘he who supplants’_.” James looked up through his eyelashes, and hummed softly, making Steve’s stomach swoop. “But I go by other, simpler, names.”

 

Breaking eye contact, James gathered up a couple of boxes and made his way back to the desk with them. As he passed by, the air felt charged. Steve found himself leaning towards the gorgeous stranger as if magnetized. They were close enough to touch; all Steve would have to do was reach out. God he wanted to. Then like a snap of static, he felt a hum of energy flow through his body and he threw himself back in alarm.

 

James turned and watched him from the counter as though nothing had happened. Perhaps nothing had.

 

“What’s the game for?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Steve composed himself to answer. “It’s my boyfriend’s birthday,” he said. “He wanted to play games tonight. He would want something special.”

 

James narrowed his eyes slightly, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Would he,” James said lowly, leaving off the inflection associated with a question.

 

Not quite sure why, Steve felt the need to come to Tony’s defense. “He really deserves something special.”

 

James raised an eyebrow then seemed to shrug it off and smiled sweetly. Too sweetly; it didn’t sit right. Confused, Steve just watched as James spread three games out on the counter between them and looked to Steve expectantly. Faced with the choice - and the threat of James’ disapproval should he pick the ‘wrong’ game - he said, “Which would you choose?”

 

James’ smile grew. “Well, _I’d_ choose this one.” He signaled to a hexagonal box with a complex brown and white pattern, a little like a henna tattoo but closer to an optical illusion. Before Steve could get a better look, James had shoved it off to the side and replaced it with a completely different game from under the counter. "But this is perfect for you,” he said with finality.

 

The box of this new game was black. Pure black and glossy like granite. Steve wondered whether he would be able to find an imperfection if he looked long enough. He wanted to touch it; already knew it would feel cool and polished.

 

Tempted as he was to just grab the box and run, he knew he couldn’t justify leaving with a game he knew nothing about. He’d come too far. “What type of game is it?”

 

James stroked a perfect finger delicately along the length of the box. “It’s a racing game,” he said softly. “The players have to outmaneuver obstacles and race against each other, or the clock, to be the first to reach a checkpoint.”

 

“Like Chutes and Ladders?” Steve asked, gesturing back to the unusual Indian version of the game he’d seen earlier, all without taking his eyes from the box. 

 

Steve was actually quite surprised that he could speak, given that he was so focused on the combined sight of the shimmering onyx lid and the way James’ fingertips caressed the surface.

 

“Yes and no. The original version was actually used to teach morality and spirituality.  The climbing of a ladder was supposed to show players the value of good deeds and the snakes were meant to show the sins that would bring them spiritual harm. Chutes and Ladders is its legacy, but with none of the good intentions.”

 

James smiled wryly, and Steve watched him carefully, intrigued by the hint of sadness in James’ tone. It struck Steve as being the most real emotion James had expressed since Steve met him.

 

Steve gnawed at the inside of his lip, thinking. “And now it’s just a race to the top,” he concluded, finally pinpointing what it was that had brought on James’ sudden and melancholy mood.

 

James’ sardonic smile turned soft and he hummed whilst nodding. He tucked his tongue into his cheek and regarded Steve, looking a little impressed.

 

Steve inhaled deeply, reaching out to take the games box like James might change his mind. It was lighter than stone but otherwise it did feel unreasonably like granite, and it seemed to shiver in his clammy palms. “I’ll take it. How much?”

 

“You’ve already paid for the other game,” James said briskly, giving him back his receipt. “Just take this one instead.”

 

James leant forward, resting on his forearms with a smug smile on his face. He clearly thought he’d done Steve a massive favor. “Anything else?”

 

The way James licked his lips was too distracting and Steve had to look away as he tried to decide whether he really wanted to give voice to the question he was desperate to ask. “Has there ever been a painting in that space there?”

 

James casually stood up and walked around the counter, following the line of Steve’s finger to the 12 x 9 inch space of wall.  He shrugged. “No, I don’t think so.”

 

 _No_ , Steve thought, _I’m just going crazy_. He suddenly felt very tired; heat sapped and drained from anxiety. He’d been on edge since they arrived in the neighborhood and James’ mercurial temperament was exhausting.

 

He watched James slip over to his dog. As strange as he was playful, chilly, seductive and insulting, James was incredibly beautiful. When he crouched down to pet Hunter, Steve realized that his shirt was slightly translucent, concealing little of the firm plane of his stomach and defined abs. He wasn’t as built as Steve, but his shirt shimmered over toned muscles across his shoulders. Steve inhaled a stuttered breath; he just couldn’t will himself to look away.

 

“Easy,” the brunet soothed with a hint of a smile. It was entirely possible that he was speaking to Steve and not the dog.

 

He turned his eyes up to Steve, pools of unearthly blue, and kept them trained on him, crisp and clear.  “See you again.”

 

James sounded so certain, Steve didn’t have the heart to say no. Besides, he wasn’t sure that he actually didn’t want to come back after all. “Maybe… I don’t... I mean, I’m really not a gamer.”

 

James smiled as though he disagreed but was humoring him.

 

Flustered, Steve soothed his hands over the box in his arms. “Thanks for your help.”

 

James stood again, eye to eye with Steve, and smirked. “Pleasure.” The word sounded sinful from his lips. Beautifully crafted on his tongue and delivered with a teasing smile.

 

Steve tried to smile back, but it was hard when he was having to restrain himself from pinning the guy back to the counter and kissing away that smirk.

 

Having forced himself to turn and walk back out the door, he could just make out James’ farewell.

 

“te mox vide, Steve"

 

Back in the depressing alley and temporarily blinded by the sun, he wondered when he’d told James his name.

 

**Notes:**

  * **Chapter title definition.** Opener: A game with very simple rules and strategies that can be used at the beginning of a gaming session to get people warmed up for heavier games or can be used while waiting for more players to arrive for the game that is the main attraction ([ _Source_](http://boardgamegeek.com/wiki/page/glossary#opener)) 
  * **Translation** : Google (probably somewhat unreliably) tells me that ‘Vide te mox’ is the translation for ‘See you soon’ in Latin.
  * Any kudos or comments are always very welcome
  * Feel free to visit / contact me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/little-lottie) if you like




	3. Multiplayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments and kudos! I'm really pleased people seem keen to see this continue. Please pop by and visit me on Tumblr (little-lottie.tumblr.com)
> 
> Extra notes at the end.

_'How dreadful...to be caught up in a game and have no idea of the rules.'_

\- Caroline Stevermer, Sorcery & Cecelia: or The Enchanted Chocolate Pot

 

~

 

While Steve had been in the store, the sun had successfully fought off the brewing thunderclouds to secure its own little space on the horizon. It burnt down victorious, glaring directly in Steve’s eyes as he shut the store door behind him.

 

Wincing, Steve blinked away violent pink and purple sunspots from the inside of his eyelids. Part of his mind was back in the store with James, sifting through memories of the whole experience, like shuffling photographs, trying to pinpoint exactly when he’d told James his name. Coming up short and sighing, he reasoned that he must have been more distracted by James than he thought if he couldn’t remember speaking his own name.

 

A more insistent part of his mind was present, suddenly alert when he couldn’t see Clint waiting outside the record store. Shielding his eyes from the persistent sunbeam, Steve looked up and down and found his friend standing stock still at the corner of the alleyway. His back was pressed flush to the crumbling brick wall like the undercover agents in the TV series Peggy liked to watch. Following his line of sight, Steve saw a hooded figure lurking in the shadow of the building on the opposite side of the street.

 

Barely moving a muscle, Clint said, “He’s been standing there for forty five minutes.”

 

Clint didn’t sound particularly concerned, and Steve was far more bothered about the time that seemed to have slipped through his fingers than the skulking stranger. How was it possible that he’d been in the game store forty five minutes?

 

From this distance, Steve couldn't make out the stranger’s facial features. His hoodie was pulled up and over his head, and he was slunk back in the entrance of a boarded up doorway.

 

“What’s he waiting for?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Clint’s voice was serious, considered, but not worried. He was still focused on the broad silhouette, assessing.

 

The loitering shadow was discomforting, but Steve didn’t feel threatened. Steve was tall and muscular, and people usually backed away from a fight with him before punches were thrown. And Clint… well, Clint could look after himself too.

 

The stranger seemed to be watching them, but perhaps he was waiting for a store to open or for a friend to meet him. Perhaps it was just the paranoia of the place that was making his behavior seem menacing.

 

Clint finally turned to face Steve, obviously dismissing any real threat. “Find what you wanted?”

 

Steve’s mind wandered to James and he felt his face heat with a blush. Again.

 

Clint burst out laughing, blue eyes shining with amusement. “Jesus, what kind of game did you get?”

 

Steve grinned. “Don’t worry, your virtue will still be intact by the end of the night.”

 

The shadow on the other side of the street shifted slightly and Clint’s eyes were back on him in an instant.

 

“We should get going anyway,” Steve said, lightly pulling on Clint’s forearm and steering him back the way they’d come.

 

Trying not to notice whether the stranger was following them, Steve turned the box over in his hands. It felt weighted like Chinese meridian balls; controlled and soothing. When Clint reached for it, Steve had to tense every muscle to keep himself from stopping him.

 

“It’s umm,” Clint muttered, taking it into his own hands and looking around it for any sign of a name or description. “Very…” He turned it upside down. “Blank?”

 

“As long as it’s got a game in it, I don’t care.”

 

Clint shrugged and handed the box back to Steve like it didn’t pain him to do so. Apparently Clint wasn't as attached to the box as Steve, but that didn't take away from the fact that Steve felt exponentially happier once the box was once again tucked against his chest.

 

They carried on walking, Clint turning every so often to check that they weren’t being pursued.

 

“Weird,” he muttered eventually when they’d followed their footsteps back through the grim streets and mourning buildings. “I thought that store mostly sold video games. You know… before it was closed… but then wasn’t.”

 

Steve chose not to think too much about the fact that he hadn’t seen a single video game in all of his forty five minutes in the store. He’d probably just been too distracted to notice.

 

~

 

“Where’s the rule book?”

 

“Do you mean the instructions?” Steve asked as he moved around the kitchen to grab snacks and empty his cupboards of every beverage he owned, alcoholic and otherwise.

 

“Instructions are for dishwashers. Games have rules,” Clint intoned solemnly.

 

The doorbell buzzed with a sense of impatience. “Have you still not answered the door?” Steve yelled through the wall. “Natasha’s going to kill you for making her wait.”

 

Steve carried on lining up bottles and throwing peanuts into bowls, but Clint obviously did as he was told because the next thing Steve heard was the door dragging open against the carpet. The hinge had dropped months ago and Steve wouldn’t let Tony pay to have it repaired for him. Every time it opened, with too much resistance and brushing hard against the carpet, Steve would watch Tony cringe in irritation.

 

Steve laughed when he heard Clint apologize to Natasha immediately, and in the same breath plead for a kiss. A few minutes later, glasses now standing to attention on the counter, Natasha joined him in the kitchen and placed a fond kiss on his cheek.

 

“Heard you had a rough afternoon?”

 

Despite her often guarded expression, Steve knew Natasha well enough to detect the concern in her voice.

 

He hummed out an agreeing sigh. “We survived,” he smiled. “Feel kinda bad for dragging Clint along with me.”

 

Natasha smirked, gracefully settling on a stool. “I wouldn’t worry,” she said in a conspiratory whisper. “He loves a drama.”

 

It was true; Clint positively invited trouble, even though he pretended to hate it.

 

“He’s about thirty seconds away from opening that game,” Natasha said, pushing curls of red hair back from her heart shaped face and popping a peanut into her mouth. “So if you want to give it to Tony, you’d better get out there and stop him.”

 

Steve groaned. “Couldn’t you have stopped him?”

 

“I could have,” Natasha agreed with a smirk, following Steve into the living room where they caught Clint in the act of lifting the lid.

 

Steve glared and Clint released it with a disappointed sigh, jumping up when there was rap at the door and dragging it open.

 

“Yes!” he said triumphantly, seeing Tony on the threshold. “Now can we open it?”

 

“Thank you, Barton. Your heartfelt birthday wishes are much appreciated.”

 

Tony used to let himself into Steve’s apartment with his own key, but it just hadn’t been like that recently. Steve and Tony would always argue then kiss and make up, but now the kiss and make up didn’t seem to clear the air quite as well as it used to. After one particular cycle of disagreement-then-reunion, Tony just started knocking. Nobody ever mentioned that he owned a fully functioning key, not even Steve, and Tony must have sensed that it didn’t feel right to use it anymore.

 

They were drifting and it was no-one’s fault. They’d just grown apart instead of closer together. They were friends. Good friends. For all their resolve to work on their relationship, Steve wondered if they should have left things at that. He thought that maybe they'd been stronger together when they were just friends. But the nature of their relationship changed and now they were both too stubborn to break the habit.

  

Tony turned towards him with a huge grin, handsome as ever and big brown eyes warm.

 

“Hey,” Steve said, brushing passed Clint and pulling Tony into a hug. “Happy birthday.”

 

Tony leaned into Steve’s larger form, only to be jostled out of it a second later when Peggy and Sam piled out of the elevator straight into them.

 

Steve’s newfound appreciation of his apartment since his visit to the truly dismal neighborhood a few hours earlier started to wane. He hated how there was hardly any space, but his friends didn’t care, they piled in and shut the door, lighting up the room with laughter and pressing gifts into Tony’s hands all the while.

 

Smiling, he walked all of the five steps back into the kitchen to get drinks.

 

“You okay?”

 

He looked up to see Sam walking in. His dark eyes soft and his innate calm always a balm to Steve’s simmering anxiety.

 

“Yeah, it’s just very cramped here. I don’t know why everyone likes to be here so much.”

 

“Because they like you, and it’s your home. It’s not cramped, its cosy.” Sam said, hand resting on Steve’s shoulder, a firm comforting weight. “It’s fine Steve. We’ve got this.”

 

“Steve bought you a game,” Clint was saying as they returned to the living room with the drinks.

 

Tony was staring the box down. “Are we sure that’s what this is?”

 

Steve cleared his throat. “Sorry it’s a bit…”

 

“Don’t even, Steve,” Clint said before turning to Tony. “If you knew what we went through for this, you’d play it every day till your next birthday.”

 

Tony grinned from his seat on the floor. “Chill out Barton, I like it.” He held it aloft to admire the shining jet black surface. “It’s _understated_ … very me.”

 

Steve snorted and flopped onto his old sofa next to Peggy, hugging her in greeting.

 

When he looked back, Tony was pulling off the lid with excitement. “Careful Tony,” Steve muttered, disproportionately worried that it would get damaged.

 

Heedless, Tony was pulling pieces out of the box and scattering them on Steve’s tea marked coffee table.

 

“Where are the rules?” Clint demanded, bouncing slightly on his toes. He was the only one standing, but he soon sat down next to Tony on the floor when the excitement got the better of him.

 

“Here,” Tony said, handing a slip of paper to Clint. He was too busy handling sheets of shiny alabaster cardboard, just as pearlescent as the box they'd come from.

 

Steve leaned forward instinctively and picked up one of the sheets. It was marked with dashes and lines, like a model making kit.

 

“It looks like a plan for a dolls house,” Peggy said over Steve’s shoulder. “I had one as a child.”

 

Steve turned to her in dismay. “Are you telling me I’ve bought a dolls house?”

 

Peggy laughed, a delightful bubbling sound. “No Steve, I think you’re safe. Dolls houses don’t tend to have wolves running around.”

 

“Wolves?”

 

She reached down to pick up another sheet, swathes of mahogany hair falling forward like a curtain, then pointed to one of the pictures on the board.

 

Steve blinked in shock, stomach knotting in apprehension. _That can’t be right._ He looked closer at the picture. It was just an outline, but very intricately detailed. A line drawing that showed a magnificent looking dog. With a large part missing from its ear.

 

“That’s not a wolf,” he said quietly, knowing that something was very wrong. “It’s a husky.”

 

Tony eased the board from Steve’s hands and pulled it comically close to his face.

 

“How can you tell?”

 

Fortunately he didn’t wait for an answer. Steve wouldn’t have been able to give him one anyway - he could barely form coherent thoughts in his own head.

 

Tony held the board aloft. “Who wants to be the husky?”

 

“No, no,” Clint said over the top of the instructions. “No one can be the dog. It’s on the opposing side – the game’s side – you know, like a computer game has villains. There’s the dog, the snake, and,” he holds up a different board, “the Shadow Man.”

 

Steve gaped, heart kick-starting. The Shadow Man looked exactly like the gorgeous, complicated man from the games store. The drawing captured everything from his strong features, pretty lips, and the board was as pale as his pale skin. The colorless picture lacked the enchanting blue of his glacier lake eyes and the richness of his dark chestnut hair, but it was undoubtedly him.

 

Clint dramatically cleared his throat and started his own paraphrased version of the instructions.

 

“Each player has a paper doll as a playing piece.” He indicated to a different board. “Players make their way through the house, confronting their fears by facing a nightmare in each room. The aim is to reach the top of the house.”

 

Seemingly unaware of Steve’s internal meltdown, preparations for the game continued, and sensing the opportunity to organize, Peggy moved forward onto the floor to efficiently sift through the boards.

 

“Right, we are going to need coloring pencils and an arts and crafts knife.”

 

Every eye looked to Steve; the only artist in the room. Steve stared at them in turn.

 

“You really want to make this?”

 

Tony turned huge brown puppy dog eyes on him and Steve felt himself cave. He was actually relieved to have an excuse to turn his back on the blanket of pure white across his floor. Darting into his bedroom, he leant against his art desk with both hands and stared at himself in the mirror.

 

It was once his mother’s, and as a child Steve would spend hours following the patterns of its carved wooden frame. Now all he saw was blonde hair, rumpled where he didn’t comb it after his shower, and a lot of blue. He’d chosen to wear the gray-blue Henley that Tony liked. Apparently it brought out the blue in his eyes.

 

Steve looked away, shook his limbs out like a fighter psyching himself for a scrap, and tried to shake his suspicions away too. He knew he was being ridiculous, freaking out over a game. The uncanny resemblance between the game characters and James and Hunter had to have a plausible explanation.

 

The reasoning calmed the tightness in his chest and cleared the uneasy fog from his brain. All of his friends were either intrigued or excited and Tony was happy. Really, it was more than he’d hoped for.

 

When he returned with three packs of pencils, a cutting board and an X-Acto knife, he felt a lot calmer. By this point, everyone was joining in. Natasha was re-reading the rules, apparently unconvinced that Clint hadn’t skimmed them and missed something. Sam was popping out some of the elements that were perforated and didn’t require cutting.

 

Steve littered the floor with the pencils and started to cut out pieces of roof, a heavy door, a stately looking fireplace, a patterned wall, a grand staircase. It was incredibly intricate and he became absorbed in the task, pausing only to join in with conversation from time to time and laugh when Clint side-eyed Natasha, clearly itching to take over as she put the characters on little stands.

 

“Maybe I should do it," he suggested.

 

“Maybe I should poke this pen in your eye,” she snapped back with a glare.

 

As Steve cut, Peggy colored and Tony built.

 

At one point he caught Tony looking at him with a slightly sad expression, but when he frowned in concern his boyfriend’s grin returned with full force. Other than that, Tony seemed to be practically buzzing with excitement about the game.

 

Little by little, drink by drink and way after their pizza had arrived and was devoured, the model took shape. When the final turret was added, they all sat back and admired it. The end result was a confusing mix of stately home and haunted castle. Beautiful, but eerie.

 

The patter of rain against the windows was the first sign of the storm whipping up outside.

 

“Creepy isn’t it?” Sam said into the hush.

 

“Are we ready to start?” Tony asked.

 

“No,” Natasha said with a thrilled smile. “We all need to draw a nightmare onto one of these cards. They’ll be the fears we face in the game.”

 

Peggy bristled slightly next to Steve. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she said slowly and in all seriousness.

 

“Scared?” Tony needled.

 

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “Smart.”

 

Peggy _was_ smart, incredibly smart. It came as a relief to Steve that she too sensed the danger here.

 

“I think Peggy’s right. Maybe we should just leave this and play something else instead-”

 

“No way!” Tony cried, “This looks fun! Come on… I need a challenge. I win all of our other games. Remember when I even beat Clint at laser quest?”

 

Steve raised questioning eyebrows in Clint’s direction. The fact that Clint might have been beaten at anything involving a good aim was a shock to everyone that knew him. Clint was an amateur archer and was good at it too.

 

“Tony beat you at laser quest?” Sam asked, clearly seeking clarification from a reliable source.

 

“Yeah, well,” Clint huffed in annoyance. “Turns out if you override the gun so it doesn’t need reloading then it’s anyone’s game.”

 

“ _My_ game apparently.”

 

“Get fucked Stark. _”_ There was very little heat in the exchange and Steve laughed despite his own unease.

 

So they all drew, Peggy hesitantly but without fuss, Natasha and Tony with obvious relish, Clint and Sam with matching frowns. They all drew but Steve.

 

“Okay. Hand ‘em over.” Clint gathered the cards and shuffled them before placing them inside the house. “Who’s got the Shadow Man, the snake and the wolf?” (“Husky” Steve corrected automatically).

 

“They’re here,” Peggy said, placing them delicately inside the house. She waggled the picture of the Shadow Man. “Handsome isn’t he?”

 

Steve avoided her gaze, deliberately keeping his eyes on the window where the rain lashed down hard against the panes.

 

“He’s alright,” Clint said with a shrug. "Well, handsome or not, he’s the villain and if we run into him during the game he’ll bring our nightmares to life.” He flicked the instructions against his hand. “It says if we’re ready to play we put our players into the house…”

 

Tony lifted the roof and threw all of the paper dolls inside with a whisper of card on card.

 

“… and in doing so we accept that we ‘play at our own risk','” Clint finished, looking to where Tony has just deposited the dolls in the house. “That sounds ominous. Oh well, Tony seems to have accepted on everyone’s behalf."

 

Sam caught Steve’s eyes and tipped his chin up as though to ask if he was okay. Steve gave him a tight nod in return and inwardly moaned at his own childishness. It was a game and none of it real. Steve was a med student, and Tony worked for his Dad as a bright young engineer. Sam was studying to be a therapist and Natasha and Clint... did something none of them really understood,  but it was a job, with a salary. That’s what was real.

 

Clint pushed the instructions into Tony’s hand, “Read this. You’re used to public speaking.”

 

“ ‘We accept the invitation to the Shadow World, a land of shattered dreams and darkness which brushes up against our world but is never seen. We challenge the Shadow Man to a race in an experiential game that rewards honesty, desire and courage. If we’re strong enough we will face our fears and become stronger. This isn’t just a race…

 

… to the top’,” Steve and Tony finished together. Tony looked at Steve in shock. “Have you been peeking?” he accused, probably feeling like Steve had stolen his thunder.

 

In retaliation the thunder raged outside, forked lightening stabbing the ground in the distance. Steve wished he could grab the game and crumple it, the words of the game - which echoed James’ words in the store - had his skin crawling.

 

Tony continued before Steve could stop him. “ ‘We’re here in the parlor, ready to play. The house shrouded in darkness, a storm battering the windows’,” Tony smirked, tilting his head to the windows in Steve’s apartment. “That’s handy, we already have one of those.”

 

Steve forced a small smile to his face.

 

“ ‘The storm presses against the walls, the force blowing the windows wide.”

 

Before Tony had even finished, Steve’s single glazed window burst open, banging back against the wall and shattering into tiny fragments all over the floor.

 

Steve and Sam jumped up and rushed to the gaping hole, but there was nothing to be salvaged. The window was blown to nothingness. Each shard, every glass diamond was one of Steve’s worries realized. And he knew he was right to be worried, to see the danger in a harmless game.

 

Barely audible over the thunder growling outside, Tony read on. And now the wind howled in, knocking Steve’s text books from their shelves and two paintings from the wall. The rain and hail poured across the frame onto Steve’s carpet.

 

“Tony stop!” he yelled, “Don’t read any more.”

 

“Oh God.” Peggy clutched Sam’s arm, beautiful mouth hanging open in horror.

 

“Tony,” Natasha started, voice controlled but raised to be heard clearly over the whistle and whoosh of the gale in the room. “If you read any more I swear to God I’ll-”

 

Tony didn’t or couldn’t listen, “ ‘And the grandfather clock chimes twelve’ .”

 

“It’s not twelve o clock,” Clint said sharply.

 

“Steve, you don’t have a chiming clock do you?” Sam asked warily.

 

“No, of course-”

 

The rest of his sentence is drowned out by a resonating chime. Steve doesn’t have a clock, he has a watch and a phone. He doesn’t have a clock, let alone a chiming one.

 

Another chime. Then a chime for every hour. And all they could do was look at each other in fright.

 

The chime didn’t stop. It reached twelve and it still didn’t stop. It continued on, and each peal was more threatening than the last until the room was engulfed in a tuneless clang of metal.

 

Then it was joined in a terrifying harmony by an explosive sucking sound. A sound like all of the oxygen in the room was suddenly being vacuumed out. The air hissed passed Steve’s skin.

 

Finally the clamor was replaced by a painful silence that screamed in Steve’s ears. It felt like the floor was shuddering, the walls vibrating, and Steve’s first thought was that he was having a panic attack, the worst he’d ever had. But through the gut wrenching fear he could see Peggy fighting to keep balance too, and behind her, Sam was staggering as though his head was spinning just as fast as Steve’s.

 

Steve desperately wanted to take that step to Peggy and check she was okay, but his body felt too light and too heavy at once. When the room was engulfed in brilliant white, his knees buckled.

~

 

Pain shot through his right-hand side as his body impacted with solid ground. Like waking from the deepest sleep, his eyelid’s felt heavy and reluctant to open. His mouth was bone dry and nausea was seizing his stomach. Groaning, Steve clutched his arms around himself and kept his eyes screwed tight until he could trust himself to open them without being sick.

 

As the sleepy haze slowly faded, he could hear music playing very softly around him. As soft and unassuming as it was, it stabbed Steve with another wave of nausea because he's never owned music like this. He’s never played anything like it in his little student high rise in Brooklyn. Its comprised of bells and violins, tinkling and sweeping with no discernible pattern, stuttering and then flowing again, and it was all very wrong. The sound didn't belong in Steve’s home.

 

He forced his eyes open to take in a larger, lighter room. The floor was no longer his worn gray carpet, but varnished hardwood. “Shit,” he muttered.

 

He wrenched himself up to lean on one elbow, surveying the room, completely unsurprised that it bore a striking resemblance to the cardboard parlor he’d cut less than an hour ago.

 

Most of his friends were sprawled around him in varying states of awareness, but Natasha was already standing. She looked so alert that Steve wondered whether she had even been unconscious at all. She prowled the room, heels clicking on the wooden floor, passing a polished oak table, a pale blue chaise lounge and an antique Victorian arm chair.

 

Steve wished he could kid himself that this was a dream, but he’d never dreamt detail like this. Like the grooves in the wood under his nails or the Venetian style padded fabric wall, soft and textured when he reached out to touch it.

 

When he looked for Tony, he saw him over the other side of the vast space, slightly unsteady on his feet. Steve tried to get up to help him, but his head span. Sam was on the case though, grabbing Tony around the waist and hoisting an arm over his own shoulder to support his weight.

 

“Okay,” Tony said, breathing hard. “This is _not_ my fault.”

 

“It is absolutely your fault,” Sam replied, giving him a pointed look. “Fact."

 

"The door's locked," Natasha said, moving over to the double-door of a French window. It didn't budge when she tugged it.

 

Shepherding her away, Clint threw something cast iron, possibly a decorative paper weight, at the window. It bounced off of it as if it was nothing more than a child's ball.

 

"Tell me Tony, why did you keep reading the damn card?" Clint hissed at him in frustration.

 

"Excuse me? Steve bought it!"

 

Steve stared at him, feeling the sudden heat of anger. He understood where Tony was coming from - Steve blamed himself too. Completely. But he’d always disliked the way Tony refused to accept even the slightest responsibility for anything. Normally Steve was more patient, more indulgent, but right now he felt the exact opposite.

 

Tony cringed. "Alright maybe it was a little my fault? I was excited!"

 

“Tony-”

 

“I mean,” Tony persisted, “I didn't do any real damage.” 

 

“Tony-”

 

"I've seen weirder."

 

Steve’s patience snapped. “Really?!” he shouted.

 

A ring of unexpected laughter startled Steve from his anger. It was a rich, genuinely amused sound that Steve had heard only once before.

 

There was no point looking at any of his friends – it hadn’t come from them. They were already looking over Steve’s shoulder, eyes widening in shock at the sudden appearance of a stranger in the room.

 

Steve knew exactly who he'd see when he turned around.

 

**Notes:**

  * This chapter was getting so long. It seemed to work better by moving some of it to the next chapter. I know I promised Bucky, and a laugh is cheating, so if you’re missing him send me an ‘ask’ on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/little-lottie) and I’ll post a snippet with him from the next chapter to try and make up for it.



 

  * **Chapter title definition.** Multiplayer game: A game with 3 or more players. Involves elements such as: diplomacy, choosing whom to attack or interfere with, kingmaking, ganging up on the leader, etc. ([ _Source_](http://boardgamegeek.com/wiki/page/glossary))



 


	4. Analysis Paralysis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading, giving kudos and/or commenting on this fic – it really means a lot and keeps me going through writers block! Sorry that my replies sometimes take a while, but I appreciate every comment and will always reply as quickly as I can.
> 
> Please pop by and visit me on Tumblr (little-lottie.tumblr.com)
> 
> Extra notes at the end.

~

_'I'm afraid that sometimes you'll play lonely games too. Games you can't win 'cause you'll play against you.'_

― Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You'll Go!

 

~

 

It felt like no time at all that Steve had been standing fast and refusing to turn, desperately hoping that while he was frozen in place, the nightmare they seemed to be trapped in would relinquish its hold. That it would simply run its course, and he’d wake up drunk and full of pizza, in his own home. Knowing his friends were safe. 

  
  
Nightmares have to end, but Steve knew that the thing about them is this: you never get to choose when you wake from them.

 

He’d have to turn eventually. Natasha had noticed the way he was standing vulnerable, his back to the new danger, and she’d probably sensed that he knew something the others didn’t. While his friends cautiously looked over Steve’s shoulder, expressions suspicious and fearful, her eyes were fixed on him.

 

Steve met her gaze, unflinching, and slowly turned to face the shadow at the back of the room.

 

And there was James, leaning carelessly against a carved limestone fireplace, elbows resting on the mantle and ankles crossed casually.

 

Yes, it was unmistakably him. James who was gorgeous, sells games and flirts, who owns a husky, burns hot then snaps cold, and can apparently conjure entire rooms... then teleport into them.

 

He was wearing a silver gray t shirt which was just as translucent as the black one had been. It shimmered under the glass drops of the chandelier, taut over his chest and looser at the waist. His long legs were wrapped in black leather, heavy boots left unlaced, and bright eyes lined with kohl.

 

Steve may have thought he was beautiful in the store, but something about him in this place was darker; more shades and edges. Steve couldn’t keep his eyes from drinking in the sight, every inch, and his whole body tensed to keep himself from stepping closer.  

 

Then as Steve watched in disbelief, bright gold sparks started to flicker around him. A few at first, then gradually more and more until they shimmered and flowed like silk. They sparked and shivered excitedly when James tilted his head up.

 

Steve’s breath came fast. What he was seeing simply wasn’t possible, it just didn’t happen. But it _was_ happening, right in front of his eyes, only meters away from him. And from what he could tell by the sharp gasps behind him, the others could see it too.

 

The glittering haze hovered around James for a few moments, then wavered, and just as quickly as it had come, the curtain of gilt specks ebbed to nothingness.

 

James looked straight at Steve, lips curled up in a sharp smirk. “Miss me?”

 

Clint nudged his arm. “Who’s that?”

 

“James,” Steve said breathlessly.

 

“Who the fuck is James?” Tony demanded, eyes boring into Steve.

 

Clearly delighted by Tony’s outburst, the man in gray and black grinned wider, his eyes never leaving Steve. God, Steve didn’t want to look away, but he was all too aware of the five other people around him, could feel the heat of their questioning gazes as they wondered what he was hiding.

 

And Tony. Shit, he’d forgotten about Tony. Steve had heard the mix of shock, fear and jealousy in his voice, and he'd done nothing; hadn’t reassured him, or even glanced at him.

 

Swallowing down the feeling of guilt that was sticking in his throat, he turned to his boyfriend, but Tony wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was glaring at James as though he wanted to throw the cast iron paperweight at him to see if he'd fair any worse than the window.

 

James' gray blue eyes - winter skies and steel – were still locked on Steve when he turned back around, and his lips had softened into a surprisingly placid smile.

 

“Call me Bucky.”

 

“Bucky?” Tony scoffed.

 

In an instant, sharp eyes snapped to Tony. James' expression was suddenly fierce.

 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he said darkly.

 

Tony visibly tensed and even Natasha recoiled back a pace. They were all afraid, Steve could feel the fear settle on them like a weighted blanket of chains. Bucky was dangerous, it was obvious and terrifying, his eyes were cold but angry, like fire burning through ice. Even the very air around him seemed to flex and surrender to his temper.

 

The group subconsciously shifted back and closer together.

 

“This isn’t real,” Clint muttered breathlessly. “You’re not real.”

 

The intense anger on Bucky’s face evaporated as he turned to Clint with a withering, unimpressed look.

 

“Steve,” Natasha said very slowly without taking her eyes off Bucky. “Does this game have some kind of augmented reality?”

 

“You know it doesn’t,” Bucky said, with a disappointed tut. “Clever little Natalia... it’s not like you to stoop to wishful thinking.”

 

“How do you know my name?” she demanded sharply.

 

One corner of his mouth curled up in a knowing smile and he shrugged nonchalantly. “I know Steve. Therefore I know you.”

 

“You know nothing about Steve.”

 

“I know _everything_ about him.”

 

And the thing was, Steve believed him.

 

He instinctively knew it was true. As though they’d always known each other, without ever walking the same street, or sharing the same space… or inhabiting the same universe. 

 

Steve didn’t know how, or more importantly why, but he wouldn’t be surprised if this man knew him better than he knew himself.

 

“Okay,” Sam said, stepping forward half a step. “Can I volunteer as the idiot that asks who the hell you are and what the fuck is going on here?”

 

Bucky stepped back, leaning against the fireplace again. “You’re in the game,” he said, his tone so casual that he could be telling them the time. “You’re inside the paper house. _‘Here in the_ _parlor_ _ready to play. The house shrouded by darkness…’_  ” 

 

He raised his eyebrows, gaze sweeping over them. “Ring any bells?”

 

The room was deathly silent, five pairs of eyes staring straight at him, a heavy veil of fear pressing down on the room.

 

“He’s the Shadow Man,” Peggy said quietly. There was a fear in her voice that Steve didn’t think he’d ever heard before.

 

“That’s insane,” Tony snapped.

 

“So this is all you? You’re the reason we’re here?”

 

“Don’t ask him questions Sam!”

 

“Tony…” Steve said, trying to calm him with a steadying hand.

 

Tony shook him off. “Don’t touch me, Steve.”

 

If the situation were different, Steve would have felt that stab of hurt more acutely, would've risen to the argument and snapped back. But there was too much at stake now.

 

“Come on, man,” Sam said to Tony. He looked around at them all. “I can’t be the only one that sees there’s no rational explanation for this.

 

They all watched helplessly as he took a flame from the nearest candelabra. He held his hand over it and almost instantly wrenched it away.

 

“It burns,” he said pointedly. “And you can see the mark on my hand. Tony, you’re the tech expert but I know enough to know that nothing like this is possible in gaming.” 

 

“No, it’s not.” Bucky interrupted. “This is real. It's magic, but it’s as real anything else.”

 

Tony regarded Bucky with a contemptuous look. “Magic?”

 

Bucky shrugged like he couldn’t care less whether Tony believed him. “Well you’re in it," he said, "Surrounded by it.” He turned both hands towards himself. “You’re looking at it.”

 

Tony scowled, tipping his chin in defiance, but remained silent. Steve wondered if he too was remembering unexplainable golden sparks and a shimmering aura.

 

“You agreed to play the game, accepted the invitation. You read the words, invoked the ancient runes.”

 

 – Steve’s mind flashed back to the memory of a wooden board in the games store, etched with mystical symbols, and of his mother’s stories of mythical lands and parallel universes –

 

“You pierced the veil between the worlds. So now you’re here. And you _will_ play. The clock is already ticking.”

 

Clint clenched his fists. “And if we don’t want to play?”

 

“You don’t have a choice,” he said. “You play. Or you die.”

 

Out of nowhere Natasha rushed forward. Steve had felt her bristling next to him since Bucky first spoke, her body alert and seething. The threat Bucky levelled at Clint clearly destroyed the last of her hesitance.

 

She lurched, span, and sent a kick to Bucky’s head. She was trained in martial arts, and she was quick… but Bucky was quicker. He grabbed her ankle, reaching out so fast that Steve didn’t even see the movement. One second Bucky was standing, guard down, and the next he had Natasha suspended mid kick. He turned her ankle and she went flying to the floor.

 

“Nat!” Steve shouted, running to her and skidding down on the floor by her legs. “Jesus are you alright?”

 

Natasha’s expression was lined with pain, but it was a relief to see that the overriding emotion on her face was anger. Clint was by her side the next second, helping Steve check her over.

 

“What have you done to her?!” Clint yelled, furious.

 

Bucky remained silent, eyes blazing.

 

“It’s sprained,” Steve said, looking up to see Natasha and Bucky savagely glaring at each other like two feral cats.

 

“Next time,” Natasha seethed, “I won’t miss.”

 

“Next time, I’ll snap your ankle,” Bucky hissed back at her.

 

“Woah, okay,” Sam said, holding out gentle placating hands. “So let me get this straight. If you’re the shadow man, then this is _your_ game?”

 

Bucky turned his eyes on Sam and sighed tiredly. “It’s my game, but I don’t make the rules.”

 

"Who does?” Steve’s voice was controlled and authoritative, his whole consciousness suddenly alert with the need to confirm who they were fighting. And he was starting to suspect it wasn’t Bucky after all. Not that he wasn’t dangerous, because he most definitely was - there was a darkness in him that you only read about in ghost stories and Grimm tales - but this was the first time he’d implied that he deferred to someone, or something, else.

 

“Jesus Christ, he’s crazy Steve!” Tony all but shouted, his voice choked in his desperation to make his point. “He’s actually trying to convince us that we’re in a magical shadow land. In a board game. Even his name’s made up!”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes dramatically.

 

Tony ignored him. “Give me one reason why we should listen to him.”

 

“Because if you don’t,” Bucky said. “You’ll die.”

 

“Say we believe you,” Peggy interjected, her voice recovering its usual control. “You haven’t told us _why_ we’re here. What is it that you want?”

 

Bucky let out a deep controlled breath, his eyes on the wooden floor. When he glanced back up, he looked through Peggy, through them all. To Steve.

 

There was a shocked silence, then Tony let out a humorless laugh that Steve could physically feel, like it was rubbing against his bones.

 

“You have got to be kidding me?!”

 

Steve’s stomach tightened, his mind running too quick and too slow, trying to understand.

 

Meanwhile, Bucky’s expression remained perfectly serious and Tony’s laugh faltered to an abrupt stop. “You’re not having him.”

 

Bucky smiled, untroubled. “If you say so.” 

 

He pushed himself away from the fireplace in one graceful movement, and walked slowly to a black grand piano by the window. Its surface was glossy, throwing back Bucky’s reflection in monochrome - a 1940’s movie star.

 

“There’s a portal waiting at the top of the house,” he said. “It’s open. Those of you that make it as far as the portal, survive.” He rapped his fingers on the black walnut, and then turned to face them. “Time to play.”

 

Four voices started talking all at once, angry and fearful, so loud not even the swathes of fabric and solid furniture in the room could absorb any of the sound. A few moments of chaos followed and then a voice could be heard above the rest.

 

“Enough!”

 

The command was followed by immediate silence. Not the gradual dwindling of noise when people quieten themselves, but a sudden and abrupt muting. One second there was uproar and the next an unnatural stillness. They weren’t following Bucky’s instruction, they literally couldn’t disobey him.

 

Steve looked at his friends as their mouths worked soundlessly, all radiating varying degrees of horror when their words were cut off before they could form a sound. Peggy’s hand was pressed to her throat, eyes wide in shock, only a futile huff of breath escaping her mouth.

 

Bucky’s lips quirked in a little half smile of satisfaction. He narrowed his eyes and made a mocking, _shh_ noise, which was less like the reassuring sound you’d use to soothe an infant and more like a snake’s warning.

 

Steve frowned and turned on him. The fury and fear that had been bubbling up since he woke on an unfamiliar floor, mind and body aching and shaken, was starting to spill over.

 

“Stop.”  

 

The word had sprung automatically to his lips, but the sound of his own voice surprised him. He’d assumed that whatever magic Bucky had worked on his friends would control him too. Bucky, however, looked unsurprised. He raised his eyebrows as much as to say, _‘I’m all ears’_.

 

Steve took a deep breath, and spoke firmly. “We need to know the rules.”

 

“You know the rules,” Bucky answered in a bored tone.

 

Steve narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. “Why do I get the feeling we’re not on a level playing field here? It’s not fair if we don’t know the rules.”

 

Bucky’s eyes flashed. “Nothing about this is fair,” he bit out darkly.

 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the anger washed out of his face and Steve didn’t miss the way his eyes darted around the room, almost fearfully. Confused, Steve followed his eyes, hoping to understand the cause of the alarm on Bucky’s face.

 

After a few moments in which nothing happened, Bucky inhaled deeply and turned back to him. “It’s out of my hands,” he said quietly.

 

His open expression lasted just a handful of moments, then it vanished. Shut down quickly, as though Bucky had simply had enough. Or, as Steve suspected, had said too much.

 

With that, there was a hum, then a crack like a snap of static, and the room was empty but for himself and Bucky.

 

“Where are they?”

  
  
“Each player has a nightmare. They’re about to face theirs. You’ll find them as you make your way through the house.”

 

Steve levelled his eyes at him. “You were in the games store.”

 

Bucky just looked at him neutrally.

 

Steve barked out a short laugh, realization suddenly dawning. “There wasn’t a games store was there?”

 

Bucky looked up through long, dark lashes, lips curling into an irresistible smile. The insolent response was all the answer Steve needed, but it infuriated him nonetheless.

 

Steve wanted to punch him and kiss him and push him to the floor. God, it made Steve feel weak, but there was something magnetic about Bucky that drew him in, riled him up and kicked him back.

 

He’d turned Steve’s world upside down, put him and his friends in danger, and hurt Natasha. And Steve hated him for it. But there was something else. Something about him that Steve found fascinating, even admired.  And whatever it was that he was hiding, Steve was sure it put Bucky in danger too.

 

What he couldn’t understand was that if Steve was the prize in this game, did that mean Bucky liked him? Wanted him? Maybe even cared for him? Steve felt like another question at this point might push Bucky into a temper, but he'd never backed down from a challenge before, spoken or otherwise.

 

“Why me?”

                               

“No more questions, Steve,” Bucky purred, shutting the piano lid with a decisive snap. It was part warning, and part… something else, because the eyes he turned on Steve burned with a new hunger. 

 

Moving slowly, he took an experimental step closer, and when Steve didn’t back away, he took another, until there were only inches and silence between them and every atom wanted to _touch_.

 

Steve’s breath caught when he saw that there was only a thin ring of blue left in Bucky’s eyes. They were almost completely blown black with desire.

 

Steve’s mind was buzzing with need, and the frantic urge to stumble forward into Bucky’s heat, feel the hard press of his body flush against his, and just _melt._ But as much as he wanted to bend to Bucky’s will, he also wanted to reach out, grab a handful of that barely there shirt and haul him in. To make Bucky tremble with need at his hands.

 

Steve wanted it. He wanted it so badly it hurt to hold himself back.

 

With hooded eyes, Steve watched his own hand move slowly to bridge the gap between them, the last of his self-discipline and conscience slipping away. It would be a comfort to think that Bucky had a hold on him, that he was using some of his magic to seduce and overpower, but the truth was that he’d never felt more lucid and in control; never felt such clarity in the face of such a thick cloud of want.

 

The guilt sat like lead in his stomach, the only thing keeping him from just grabbing Bucky’s face in his hands and kissing him. But there was no way he was going to pull his hand back, especially as Bucky had noticed it edge closer and was regarding him with a look of astonishment and longing.

 

Two pairs of eyes watched the slow progress of Steve’s hand until it gently brushed the back of Bucky’s, heated fingertips against soft skin. The contact was just a fraction of a second, but in the instant the connection was made, a violent shock of energy rushed through Steve’s nerves, flushing through his body, making his skin vibrate and his head light and hazy.

 

A split second later, the adrenalin sent him reeling back in shock. He stepped away, leaving a mist of golden sun drops in his wake. He watched the flecks as they danced in front of his eyes in amazement. It was the same manifestation he’d seen around Bucky when he first entered the room.

 

“What _is_ that?” he breathed, voice still strained with lust.

 

Bucky didn’t answer. He just closed his eyes and the mist cleared. When his eyes opened again, fiery specks were swimming in his irises.

 

Steve stared at him. “You’re not human.”

 

Bucky blinked the shimmer away, and let out a short burst of surprised laughter, that same rich combination of sunlight and sin. When his laughter trailed off, the smile it left behind was just as dazzling.

 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said. “What’s the saying? All things come to those who wait. It’s time for you to wait. I’ve waited long enough.”

 

“What’s really going on here, Bucky?”

 

“Nothing I haven’t already told you.” His tone was cold again. Bucky had so many mood swings, it made Steve's head spin. “I trapped you in a game. A game that could kill you. And every person in your world that you love.” Steve flinched. “I want to see them suffer, and then fail. Because if they fail, I win.”

 

Bucky’s voice was so barbed, so icy, that Steve recoiled from him. There was a rage in his eyes, so unequal to the casual way he was holding himself. That’s when Steve realized that Bucky was diverting, misdirecting.

 

Steve glared. “You’re lying.”

 

Bucky looked back at Steve menacingly. “Be careful, Steve.”

 

For the first time since laying eyes on him, it felt like Bucky was creating distance between them despite not moving at all.

 

“You’re playing the game like everyone else.”

 

“And if I don’t survive their nightmares? Or my nightmare? Will you let me die?”

 

Bucky frowned, but Steve noticed the resigned way he sighed. “Time’s wasting Stevie,” he said quietly and a little regretfully. “Best get moving.”

 

Behind him, the parlor door was open and waiting.

 

**Notes:**

 

  * **Chapter title definition**. Analysis paralysis: when over analysis increases game downtime- time spent waiting - beyond a desirable level.
  * As always, this chapter got a little out of hand! But it has survived a ton of edits and revisions, and I think I’m pretty happy with it. Hope you like it too – please let me know!
  * Come chat to me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/little-lottie) if you like




	5. Gamers' Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:**  
>   
>  Thank you so much to everyone who has supported this story – it really keeps me motivated to write  
>   
> Please note: I have added a couple of extra tags (trigger warnings) because a large part of this chapter is one of our characters facing their fear. If you’d like to know what it is and what the triggers are before reading, please don’t be worried about coming to me on Tumblr and asking.  
>   
> Extra notes at the end.

~  
  
_'The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.'_

\- H.P. Lovecraft  
  
~

  
  
Bucky had been there one second, then in the blink of an eye, was gone. He’d vanished, leaving Steve in the dust with his anger, desire and frustration. A heady mix of passionate emotions that made his blood burn hot through his veins.

 

He glared at the space Bucky had occupied and huffed in irritation. The chiming clock on the wall ticked along with his heart, its pendulum swinging like the warring in his mind. He was glad Bucky was gone, but he desperately wanted him back. To shout at him, to fear him, to kiss him.

Steve forced the mess of half formed thoughts to the back of his mind. Bucky had said that they were against the clock, and Steve wasn’t going to risk hanging around. For all its creature comforts, the parlor was eerie and echoing without anyone else in it, and there was no way of knowing if, or when, the door might shut on him.

 

He paused at the threshold warily. A long corridor rolled out in front of him, a clinical and nondescript tunnel of doors. Dozens of them. Without pausing to choose between them, Steve tried the first handle he could reach, then each handle in turn, because every last one was locked tight.

 

Steve sighed, looking around for something he’d missed and quickly realizing that the corridor didn’t just stop dead. There was a corner at the end. He ran towards it, turned right, and let it lead him into another corridor. A perfectly identical corridor.

 

“Shit,” he muttered.

 

He walked slowly, trying each of the doors, but to all intents and purposes this was an exact and unhelpful replica of the last corridor, even down to the corner at the end.

 

Steve had inadvertently memorized the blueprint of the paper house - his brain was a sponge when it came to architecture and art - but there was no way this was the same layout. Straight lines, locked doors and right angles, over and over again. Corridor after identical corridor, disorientating and frustrating.

 

It certainly wasn’t his nightmare, but it was starting to feel like it. With dawning horror, he wondered whether he would eventually come full circle, restrained in a circuit of cold, cramped passages. He tightened his fists. Right at that moment his friends could be living their nightmares, while he was trapped and useless.

 

He was reaching to grab at the nearest handle again, hoping it would yield under brute force, when he heard a low vibrating sound. Like a cat’s purr... only louder. He jerked his head up, instinctively looking to his most vulnerable spot over his shoulder. When all he saw was the blinding white of walls and floor, he whipped his head around to find a huge wild cat stood opposite him.  
  
It stared, alert and unmoving, standing solid on large, heavy paws, and flicking its tail. Heart stuttering, Steve froze in shock, knowing instinctively that if the animal decided to pounce he’d be butchered before he got past the last bend. The purr it made was so loud it was like a tremor in the air. It wasn't the happy noise you’d hear from a domestic cat, but it wasn't exactly threatening either. It didn't seem to be on the attack, but it  _was_ a predator and Steve wouldn't let his guard down.

 

Without taking his eyes off of it, he crept his hand towards the doorknob. The cat dipped its brown-gold head, ears swiveling forward, then turned and its short tufted tail disappeared out of view, rounding the corner to the left.

 

 _To the left._ Steve’s heart lifted. It went left, not right. Not right like every corner Steve had been navigating time and time again. 

 

He lurched after it, not quite believing that he was actually following the animal instead of running away from it. Worried the game would just change the terrain on a whim and cut him off, he rounded the corner and into the new room at a run.

  
  
To say that the space that opened up in front of him was a pleasant surprise would have been an understatement. It was bright and airy with a high vaulted glass ceiling and beautifully painted stone tiled floors and walls. Two lines of stone pillars rose up, wrapped in intricate patterned metal work which flowed from the top of each pillar to arch over the room and support the ceiling. Bright light poured in, hit the brass and reflected patterns on the taupe of the walls. In the centre there was a swimming pool which glistened icy blue.

 

He’d forgotten about the wild cat until it started purring again, and he looked down in alarm to see it sprawled at his feet. He had no idea what type of cat it was, but it was huge, and he didn’t have to use much of his imagination to see past the fluffy giant kitten exterior to picture the sharp canines and claws it was hiding.

 

He took a careful step back, placating hands extended to show he wasn’t a threat, but if a cat could look amused, it was practically grinning. It dipped its head to rest its chin on an outstretched paw, and that’s when Steve saw its fluffy ears - one tipped black, and the other tip missing.

 

Steve stared at it. “Hunter?”

 

“Steve, back away from it.”

 

He turned quickly to see Peggy a few meters away, eyes fixed on the animal at Steve’s feet.

 

“Peggy,” he breathed in relief. “It’s okay, she won’t hurt you.”

 

Peggy quirked a skeptical eyebrow in his direction, and Steve bridged the gap between them, hugging her to him. "You don’t seem very pleased to see me,” he noted with a smile.

 

“Well _you_ seem to have brought a carnivore in here with you, so can you blame me?”

 

“She won’t hurt you,” he repeated, completely sure in his conviction.

 

Peggy looked at him properly for the first time, a little frown on her face. “And I imagine that you know this in the same way you knew the wolf was a husky?”

 

Steve winced slightly, and her face softened.

 

“It doesn’t matter Steve. We’re here now, and we’ll be home soon.”

 

“Yeah,” he breathed, wishing he could believe that. “How long have you been here?”

 

“I’ve circled the room more times than I can count,” she said. “But there’s no exit. Only that door you came through.” She looked at him, expression serious. “And it wasn’t there before you appeared, and it’s not there now.”

 

A quick look over his shoulder confirmed that she was right. The doorway through which he’d followed a fluffy tail had been consumed by the stone wall, as though it had never been there. As though it would never reappear.

 

It was calm and surprisingly serene in the room, and not a single thing was happening, not even Hunter was moving. Not sure what they were supposed to be doing, Steve sat down on the hard tile, and Peggy followed, leaning back on her hands. He’d never been awkward with Peggy before, but he had no idea what to say to her.

 

“Sorry Peg, I didn’t realize what would happen.” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “It was just a game... I thought I was being paranoid.”

 

Peggy looked at him. They both knew that she didn’t have to speak the words to say, _‘'It’s okay,'_ and, _‘It's not your fault’._ They’d known each other too long, and Steve could read her as easily as he could hear her. Her expression was forgiving and understanding; emotions that Steve knew he didn’t deserve.

 

After a few moments, she spoke. “Not quite so cute anymore, is he?”

 

Steve’s eyes widened, knowing instantly that she was referring to Bucky. He cleared his throat. “No?”

 

“No,” she said, her voice clipped. “I tend to find life threatening a bit of a turn off.” She looked at him pointedly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

Steve’s smile fell and he blushed deeply. He couldn’t tell her the truth - that he didn’t agree at all - so he just remained silent.

 

“This is precisely why I always beat you at poker.”

 

“We only played once!”

 

“Once was apparently enough.” She smiled, but it was tight. “Please be careful, Steve.”

 

Before Steve could respond - to deny or defend, he wasn’t sure - he heard a huff of air and turned to see the cat sitting up and staring at them with its yellow gold eyes. It bobbed its head slightly, and if it were a pet Steve would think it wanted to be stroked.

 

“That thing isn’t a real Lynx,” Peggy said offhand. “They can’t purr.”

 

Steve watched as the cat’s ears flattened against its head and its tail thumped against the floor.

 

Peggy sighed. “So whose nightmare is this?”

 

“Could be mine,” Steve said reluctantly. “My mom made me take swimming lessons when I was younger. She said it would help my asthma, but really I think she just wanted to be sure I could tread water if bullies turned me into the river.”

 

Peggy gave him a sympathetic smile.

 

“Anyway, there was a diving club that trained at the pool and I used to watch them and wanted to do it. _Really_ wanted it. They’d trained for years, but I was sure that I could get up there and do the perfect dive straight off the bat. Perfect tens across the board.”

 

“I don’t think there are any points for a screaming plummet,” she said with a tiny teasing smile.

 

Steve chuckled. The calm of the room, the breather from fear, the knowledge that he’d found one of his friends safe, it all lightened the weight of shadows on his shoulders.

 

“I was eleven,” he defended, grinning at her, and she laughed, a trickling sound that warmed him. “But I did try it once. I was terrified, but I wouldn’t back down from the board. I jumped and I hated every eight seconds of it.”

 

“Is that what you drew?”

 

“No.”

 

“Not yours then,” she said confidently, getting up and wandering to the swimming pool.

 

Steve followed her. Nearing the edge to get a better look, he stared down into the crystal clear water. The tiles around the sides of the pool were intricately detailed, but instead of meeting similar, perpendicular floor tiles, they ran on and on. Down they went until they could no longer be seen for depths of blue, blue water.  It was bottomless.

 

Steve was fascinated, but beside him Peggy physically recoiled.

 

“It’s mine,” she said. Steve looked at her carefully. She was doing a good job of keeping her expression neutral, but her voice quivered. “It’s _my_ nightmare. It's... the ocean. Or a deep lake. Or a lagoon…”

 

Her breathing started to come quick. “It’s just… I don’t like a lot of water all around me. A pool’s fine because it has sides, and a bottom. But the sea…”

 

She shuddered and gasped, took another step back. “Nothing but water and darkness. Above, below, all around. It’s… it's not rational, I _know_ that, but nobody could possibly know what’s in so much water, Steve.”

 

Her voice was tight - the sound you make when you’re holding back tears - and she was trembling. The very thought had her trembling.

 

“How did I not know this?”

 

“We’ve never been to the beach,” she replied, forcing out a choked humorless laugh, but she looked nauseas. “I’m sorry Steve.”

 

Steve pulled her close with one arm around her shoulder. Peggy knew she had to get in the water; that was her nightmare. Steve wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to. That it was okay, and everything was going to be alright. But it wasn’t okay, and it probably wouldn’t be alright.

 

Bucky’s words – _‘You have no choice. The ones that make it to the portal, survive’_ – echoed unspoken in the silence around them.

 

Steve turned so that they were face on, and took Peggy’s hands in his. “We’ll do it together, Peggy.”

 

She shook her head, refused to look him in the eye, and swiped a silent tear from her face as though it had betrayed her in spilling across her cheek.  

 

“Peggy, look at me.” Her eyes were brimming, but her head was high. “We’ll do this together.”

 

She pursed her lips, red lipstick faded long ago. “That diving board wasn’t there when we came in.”

 

Her words didn’t surprise him - he’d noticed it too. On a half moon balcony where it rounded out from the far wall, there was now a concrete diving platform. It had appeared not long after Steve had told Peggy his diving story.

 

“No, it wasn’t,” Steve agreed, ignoring the tightening in his gut. “But we’ll deal with that together too, right?”

 

She inhaled sharply. “Yes. But I don’t understand. If this is my nightmare, then why the diving board?”

 

Steve was prepared to admit that he didn’t know, but he was fed up of not knowing anything about this place. He may not know, but he could try and work it out.

 

“Maybe the game feeds off of our fears as well as showing us our nightmares?”

 

“Sounds plausable,” she muttered wryly. “What a horrible place.”

 

Steve couldn’t disagree, but they had to keep going regardless. He kept hold of Peggy’s hand and led her to the balcony steps. By the time they reached the end of the diving board, Peggy had kicked off her shoes and that tough look was back on her face – the one that said, _‘Come fight me and I’ll win’._

 

Steve had been prepared with a rousing pep talk on his tongue, but Peggy just grabbed his hand, pulled him forward and leapt.

 

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t ready, because he would never have been ready. He just gripped Peggy’s hand and fought his body’s urge to cry out. Then they were plunging deep into the crystal water, far deeper than the momentum of the drop ought to have carried them. The water rushed past them in progressively darker shades of blue as they plunged down, pushed further and further against the resistance of tons of water. The broken shafts of sunlight that filtered through the first few meters were diluted down here.  There was nothing to see, just a whirr of blue in front of his face.

 

With a jolt, they slowed to a sudden stop. The thrum lessened to a quiet hum in his ears as they hung suspended in the water. Every way he looked, all he could see was shadows and water. Just black and blue; a living bruise. 

 

He stared and stared, pulse racing, and still nothing changed. But the fear was that it _could_. They were alone and vulnerable and the only change was the increasingly desperate force with which Peggy gripped his arm, and the rising burn in his lungs as they screamed for air. It was a cry of one of the most primal, basest of fears - death.

 

The crushing need to swim up for air was overwhelming, but he couldn’t leave Peggy. Just when he thought he couldn’t control his flight reflex any longer, his lungs automatically went to pull in a frantic breath, and he was left numb with shock when he realized that pure oxygen, not liquid, had flooded into his mouth.

 

 _Peggy._ He turned to her before he’d even realized that she’d slipped his hand, and just caught sight of her foot as she swam upwards in panic. He chased after her, eventually bursting through the surface, shouting her name then swimming over to where she was trying to haul in desperate breaths, which wouldn’t slip past her throat.

 

“Peggy, look at me.” Her face was tight, seized in fright. She was having a panic attack and he didn’t know how much time he’d have to help her. But before anything else, he knew this nightmare wasn’t over and before it was too late he had to tell her, “We can breathe under there… we can breathe.”

 

She turned to him with terrified eyes. “I know,” she gasped through a sob.

 

And with a sickening horror that put ice in Steve’s veins, he realized that it didn't matter to Peggy whether or not she could breathe because that wasn’t her fear. Her nightmare was real the moment she hit the water, with lungfuls of air to spare.

 

Steve opened his mouth to try and soothe her, but the words stuck unsaid in his throat when they were visciously yanked down again.

 

This time, Steve held Peggy and didn’t let go. He’d hold her until it killed him, because his friends were the only part of him he couldn’t let go.

 

It was impossible to say whether they’d ended up in the same spot, because Steve could barely see a few meters ahead of them. The solid expanse of blue faded into darkness every way they looked. 

 

Peggy’s eyes were wide and pleading despite the sting of the water, and as much as he willed her to keep looking at him and only him, she kept shooting petrified glances out of the corner of her eyes and it only made her more terrified. She was trembling violently in his arms and Steve didn’t know how to help.  It wasn’t even his nightmare and he still felt the sharp bite of fear, the pressure on all sides; a hopeless, unfathomable, endless expanse of murky blue. They were alone in the vast emptiness of the sea and the only land they could reach would tip them off and throw them down again.

 

He squinted and looked around as much as he could without jostling Peggy who was pressed against his chest like she could disappear into him, her hands covering her face and eyes. A darker spot appeared at the edge of his vision. A large shadow, gradually becoming bigger. Steve started to wonder if it was land magically coming closer because they’d faced the fear long enough. He knew it was a ridiculous thought, but nothing seemed impossible here.

 

It wasn’t until the looming shadow was nearing them, off to the side but close enough, that Steve knew what it was. Knew without question that it was a shark, emerging from the void like a specter. It banked around them, ready to circle and Steve’s heart was hammering so hard he thought his chest might burst. It was far enough away that he could almost convince himself that it hadn’t seen them. If its deadly black eyes never met theirs, maybe they’d be okay. But he knew with absolute certainty that they weren’t getting out of this nightmare without moving.

 

He didn’t try and keep track of it, didn’t look up or down to see if there were more shadows appearing, he just kept hold of Peggy and tried to make her swim along beside him. She jerked and pulled away with all her might, strong in her panic and fear, but Steve was stronger and he’d never been more grateful for his growth spurt than he was in that moment.

 

So he pulled, even though Peggy was fighting him, even though he was scared that her thrashing might draw other shadowy creatures or that his grip might be bruising her, because they were going to survive this. He swam, Peggy a dead weight behind him, through unchanging water for what seemed like the longest time. And when his muscles were protesting, lactic acid ripping through them, he suddenly spotted a rock ledge hovering in the water above their heads.

 

He yanked them up in the direction of the overhang, and could feel the delight in every fiber of his being when a hatch came into focus. Grabbing the handle in one hand and Peggy in the other, he pulled the wooden door down and open.

 

Finally, they broke through the water to open air, and a quick check for immediate danger revealed that the other side of the hatch was an empty room. The only water was the tiny square they were clambering out of.

 

“Peggy!” he exhaled in elation. He’d never felt relief like it, like it was racing through his veins and being absorbed into every bone.

 

Peggy had barely surfaced before she was scrabbling out, crawling as far away from the water as she could before her body gave in, crumbling to the floor, practically vibrating.

 

“You did it, Peg,” he said softly, proudly, jumping out and pulling her close. Trying to fend off the cold that was seeping into her skin, he furiously rubbed warmth back into her arms.

 

“Steve?” she whispered, in a way that implied that she didn’t really want to know the answer to the question she was steeling herself to ask, "Were there any _things_ in the water?”  
  
  
He didn’t want to answer any more than she wanted to hear it.  
  
  
“Steve,” she said again in a low voice, “were there shipwrecks?”  
  
  
“No Peg, no shipwrecks.”  
  
  
She breathed out a long rush of breath. “I suppose that’s the point,” she said, voice still unsteady. “It was just my fear.”

 

Steve offered her a little smile and refused to mention the shark. He looked over her head to take in the room around them. He almost mistook it for the same room they’d started in, but there were two significant differences. The first was the open door.

 

“Steve?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Is that Natasha?”

 

Steve followed her line of sight to a wall of glass – the second significant difference - behind which he could make out a flash of red.  He pulled Peggy up and they stumbled towards it, still weak in the knees and cold from the chill of their wet clothes.

 

“Nat is that you?” Steve pressed his hands to the glass, and Natasha looked up.

 

“About time,” she said with her eyebrow raised. The sound of her voice wasn’t even slightly distorted by the glass; clearly another magical quirk that Steve should really be starting to get used to.

 

She was sat at a long hard wood table, surrounded by solid walls of books on all remaining sides. A mural was painted on the creamy white ceiling which domed in the middle, and parquet flooring shone underneath Natasha’s feet. Nothing about it looked terrifying, and nothing about Natasha looked terrified.

 

“A library?”

 

“I know. I feel like I’m in Clint’s nightmare,” she smirked.

 

“It’s not yours?”

 

“Seriously Rogers, I’m insulted.”

 

Steve couldn’t help but match her grin.

 

“My skill at drawing must be worse than I imagined if this is what they thought I was getting at.”

 

“Your stick men are pretty impressive,” Steve ribbed with a playful smile.

 

Nat’s matching grin faded as soon as she took a proper look at Peggy. She got up and walked over to them. “What happened?”

 

Steve looked at Peggy and she nodded her head for Steve to answer. “Peggy’s nightmare.”

 

Natasha assessed them both with one astute sweep, and could clearly tell that it would do Peggy no good to make her relive the ordeal by asking about it.

 

“Well I have good news,” she said instead.  “This game is far from perfect. I was thinking about what the Shadow Man was saying. About meeting our nightmares, and wondered if it takes our fears and shows them to us too.”

 

Steve nodded. As far as thought processes go, it was pretty similar to Steve’s assumption earlier. It made perfect sense.

 

“So I wondered if I could trick the AI, or whatever the magical equivalent is, and try and imagine fears.”

 

“That’s brilliant,” Peggy said, excitement creeping into her voice.

 

Natasha’s responding smile was almost humble, and Steve had to double take. “You never react like that when _I_ complement you.”

 

“You give praise too readily,” Natasha snarked. “Anyway, I tried to ‘fear’ weapons and an escape route first, but it’s too clever for that. Then, because I’m in a library and may as well make use of it, I feared the game. Or more specifically, finding out about this world. It’s so lame it worked.”

 

She slinked back over to the table and picked up a thick, weighty looking book with a textured cover.

 

“Whoever designed this game seems to have misjudged the power of books.”

 

Through the chatter of teeth, Steve could still make out Peggy’s derisive snort.

 

“Whoever?” Steve repeated. “You don’t think its Bucky?”

 

She looked at him intently. “I don’t think it’s _all_ him.”

 

Steve sucked his lips against his teeth. He had no idea why he was so desperate to think that Bucky was somehow innocent. No, not innocent. But at least not a villain.

 

Natasha tapped the book. “He’s definitely not human, but there’s a lot more to this than just him.”

 

“Nat,” Steve started, pausing to try and phrase the question right. Steve knew that by asking he was revealing something that he wasn’t sure he wanted his friends to know just yet, but he couldn’t help himself.

  
  
“When he touched you in the parlor, did you feel anything?”  
  
  
“Yes," she said dryly. “Pain. From where he was trying to break my ankle.”

 

He could feel the heat of Peggy’s assessing gaze on his face.

 

“No, I mean, like an energy. A connection?”

 

Steve could still feel the thrum of sensation he’d felt when he'd touched Bucky’s hand.

 

Natasha shook her head. “He touched you? Did he hurt you?”

 

“No!” he said quickly. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”

 

There were a few moments of silence in which Steve thought that if he said something, it would only be more incriminating, and in which Natasha and Peggy were clearly trying to decipher the subtext. Peggy was the one that broke the silence.

 

“Have you read it?” she asked Nat, indicating the book and then wrapping her arms around herself.

 

  
“Twice. I’ve been in here for hours. Now I’m on to something more enjoyable.” She brandished a copy of Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca.

 

Steve’s pulse picked up with anticipation. Natasha was building the suspense, which usually meant she knew something useful that nobody else did. If this helped them win the game, it would mean they all might survive. And that meant everything.

 

“Tell us,” Steve said quietly.

 

But Natasha couldn’t. Or if she could, Steve couldn’t hear. There was a chill on his skin and a feeling like ice water pitching into his stomach.

 

A pulling sensation tugged at him, a hook around him that was yanking him back. And all he could see was black.  
  
~

**Notes:**

  * **Chapter title definition.** Gamers game: any game that demonstrates an elongated learning and experience curve, requiring multiple plays for the acquisition of strategic and/or tactical efficiency
  * I hope you're enjoying the story and like the update! Please kudos and comment if you like it
  * Feel free to come chat to me or ask me questions on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/little-lottie) if you like




	6. Downtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm… so here’s a very long chapter! Hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Extra notes at the end.

_~_

_'he is dangerous_  
_not because his steps leave land mines in the earth_  
_and his voice fractures like bursting grenades_  
_and his tongue dances with cyanide foam_

 _no, he is dangerous_  
_because he shines like a galaxy lost in space_  
_and he burns like a thousand dying stars_  
_and he reels you in as effortless as gravity.'_

[ — he is dangerous because you love him ( @pencap) ](http://pencap.tumblr.com/post/139756704450/he-is-dangerous-not-because-his-teeth-are-made-of)

_~_

 

**_“Steve.”_ **

 

There was soft voice in his head. Silky and lilting, it filtered like a caress through his sleep dazed mind.

 

**_“Wake up, Steve.”_ **

 

The low sound flowed like warm honey into his consciousness, as clear and at home as his own thoughts. It rippled over him, soothing the ache in his muscles and the chill in his bones.

 

**_“There you are…”_ **

 

Confused, he rubbed a hand across his face and tried to blink away the haze of sleep. His eyes felt gritty and dry when he pried them open, whether from too much sleep or nowhere near enough, he wasn’t sure.

 

He was lying on his back in the softest of blankets, cocooning him in warmth. His clothes felt dry and as fresh as if they’d been hanging on a line in hours of Summer sun, which was odd because just moments before they’d been sodden with salty sea water. He flinched, tension starting to gnaw at the edges of his mind.

 

Above him was a canvas, black as pitch, but decorated and alive with color. It was a bursting, vibrant mural of outer space; a stunningly beautiful chaos of planets and stars. It was almost too intense, too tangible. There were strokes of indigo, swirls of blue, a vivid slash of neon green - all bold and luminous. The jet background was strewn with stars; some scattered and some crowded together in dense milky clusters like someone had thrown a pot of glitter.

 

He felt as though he could reach out and touch it all. And as his eyes started to refocus, beginning to make out depth and dimension, he realized that he could.

 

“Oh my god,” he rasped, scrambling onto his hands and knees.

 

He looked around, taking in the glass platform beneath his palms – the only thing between him and the boundless space below – and then the spectacle all around him. A galaxy millions of miles across, but implausibly and unquestionably right at his fingertips.

 

He swore under his breath, throwing off a thick layer of sable and ivory colored furs, and sucked in heavy gasps of air as his thoughts gathered and returned, treacle slow. Exotic swimming pools with brass metal arches, Bavarian libraries and ancient books with secrets. Diving boards and sharks, and Peggy scared for her life.

 

And a solar system with planets that didn’t belong in the Milky Way, but to some other universe, one that was home to a world of shadows and darkness. And games.

 

**_“Steve.”_ **

 

“Bucky,” he snapped. “Get out of my head.”

 

He was prepared for laughter - flirty or derisive, mocking or amused, or whatever direction Bucky’s flighty mood took him - but he was met with silence.

 

Swiveling on the spot, Steve saw Bucky nestled in a pile of furs opposite him, casually watching with one leg hitched up so that he could lean an arm on his knee. He was just sitting there, looking inconceivably gentle.

 

The fuzzy blankets around him seemed to mute all his sharp edges, and although it was hard to be sure with only the light of the stars and planets around them, Steve was convinced that this unearthly, dangerous man was wearing a soft looking sweater.

 

He didn’t look any less stunning than he had before, but it was a stark contrast to his usually provocative outfits.

 

Bucky's eyes were strangely warm and Steve stared transfixed. The irony wasn’t lost on him; there was a whole cosmos around them, yet it was Bucky that he was captivated by.

 

“Were you watching me sleep?”

 

Bucky pursed his lips in amusement. “Yes.”

 

Steve frowned, cleared the gravel rasp in his voice, and told him, "That’s really creepy.”

 

Bucky tipped his head to the side as though he was considering Steve’s statement then let out a shy, self deprecating sort of laugh.

In that moment it was almost impossible to imagine that this was the man who had tricked Steve into taking the game. That he’d dragged everyone Steve loved into a hostile world and was forcing them to play for their lives, all the while giving a very convincing impression of someone who'd thoroughly enjoy watching their suffering. It was _almost_ impossible, but the anger that burned hot through Steve’s veins was all the reminder he needed.

 

“Were you there?!” he demanded, crushing the furs in his fist.

 

Bucky looked at him blankly.

 

“In Peggy’s nightmare! Were you there?!”

 

Bucky sighed deeply but remained silent, matching Steve’s stare with searing intensity.

 

“You _made_ that happen! Peggy was terrified. _I_ was terrified.”

 

The words came easy, like darts off his tongue, and with every syllable he felt the tension ease a fraction more from his body. He wanted to push Bucky into a temper, to make him snap and feel the anger Steve felt, but he was as calm as the cool stone of his eyes.

 

“I mean, I presume you know what just happened?!”

 

“Of course I know what happened. It’s my business to know.” He didn’t sound smug, just tired and resigned, and it was that softness that kept Steve from a full blown rage.

 

“We could’ve died!”

 

Looking at him blandly, Bucky said, “Yes.”

 

The air left Steve’s lungs in a rush. He’d known that they’d been in serious danger, but he hadn't really believed that their lives had been at stake until that moment.

 

They watched each other, unspeaking. The only noise was a soft swirling sound like the swell and tumble of the sea, the whispery echoes of space.

 

Bucky looked so soft and young. The paradox of this fierce, seductive, dangerous creature sitting vulnerable as he twisted the cuff of his sleeve, had Steve blind sighted. All he could see was a beautiful boy in pale blue cashmere. 

 

“We need to talk,” Steve said softly.

 

Bucky’s lips quirked but it was a parody of his usual smirk and it didn’t reach his eyes. "I didn’t bring you here to talk.”

 

“No,” Steve said firmly, ignoring Bucky’s suggestive tone. “You brought me here because Natasha was going to tell me what she’d read in that book.”

 

Bucky huffed irritably. “The information in that book is dangerous.”

 

“Dangerous for who? You?” Steve’s voice was a little more accusatory than he’d planned, but Bucky didn’t bite.

 

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but definitely for you, if you’d been overheard.”

 

“Overheard by who?”

 

Bucky smiled wryly and shook his head, looking entirely unsurprised by Steve’s persistence.

 

“Tell me what’s going on,” Steve demanded. “Now.”

 

With narrowed, flinty eyes, Bucky glared at him. “You don’t seem to have grasped the power balance here, Steve.”

 

“Tell me or I won’t play.”

 

Bucky chuckled, and it was the laugh Steve had come to associate as genuine. It was also a wonderfully addictive sound and Steve’s blood started to race with something other than anger.

 

If Bucky noticed the flush on his cheeks, he didn’t say anything. Instead he sighed and said, “I know for a fact you’re not actually this stupid, Steve. I’ve told you.. you _have_ to play.”

 

Steve slowly crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was a gesture of, _‘I don’t have to do anything’._   Maybe if he set his jaw too, Bucky would pick up on the universal language of _‘fuck you’_ as well.

 

Bucky’s eyes hardened and he pursed his lips, bright sparks popping and fizzing around his fingertips. “You should know that if it weren’t for this ridiculous soft spot I seem to have developed for you, you’d be dead.” 

 

His words were harsh and clipped, and when he leant his weight forward onto both hands, the sparks skittered across the glass and dispersed in the distance between them.

 

“I don’t doubt it,” Steve replied earnestly. “But I want to know why. Why are you doing this to us?"

 

“You knew the game you were playing,” Bucky said.

 

Steve choked out a disbelieving bark of laughter. “In fairness, you left out a few important sales disclaimers, Bucky. At the very least you could have mentioned that Carcassonne would have been far safer."

 

Bucky’s face fell like Steve had slapped him. All the fire and ice of a second ago vanished instantly.

 

“You’re upset,” he said, a tiny frown on his face like he was genuinely concerned that Steve was cross with him.

 

Steve looked at him, incredulous. Jesus, Bucky was the most complicated person he’d ever met, his moods were so volatile he seemed to express more emotions in the space of a minute than a normal person did in a lifetime. Steve’s brain was running at a mile a minute just to try and keep up.

 

“Of course I’m upset! I’m really fucking mad at you! I’m fighting for my friends’ lives. My life. I’m terrified.”

 

Bucky dropped his eyes, wet his lips and frowned, and Steve couldn’t believe the feeling of guilt that started to seep into his mind. This Bucky was different to every other version of him that he’d seen so far. Steve couldn’t understand why he was suddenly showing this fragility. Even in the games store, baiting his trap with charm, Bucky wasn’t this passive.

 

“How do you expect me to feel?” he challenged, voice rough from sleep and shouting. “You’ve given me nothing else to feel, Bucky.”

 

Steve’s voice was firm, but he wasn’t being completely truthful. Bucky had given him lots to feel, but he didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a spray of shooting stars. As he watched with awe, they flew like fireworks, streaming past, completely indifferent to their audience. And maybe that was it. Maybe it wasn’t that Bucky was behaving strangely but that he was no longer influenced by watchful eyes.

 

“They can’t watch us here,” Steve muttered in realization.

 

Bucky’s eyes darted to his, wide with surprise. Steve didn’t know whether the enemy was a ‘they’ or an ‘it’, but Bucky’s reaction certainly confirmed that they shared the same enemy, whatever the form.

 

“And we’re not being overheard are we?

 

When Bucky didn’t react, Steve went to stand up. It was the weirdest feeling, walking on next to nothing, surrounded by absolutely _everything._

 

“No, they can’t hear us here.”

 

His words struck Steve as ironically flippant given the weight of the statement and what it meant for Bucky to admit that there was more to the game than he’d been letting on.

 

Steve watched Bucky as he reached behind himself. His extended hand seemed to connect with something, because all of a sudden Steve could see a shimmer of gold, blanketing them all around in a gilded sphere. It pulsed then faded slightly so it could hardly be seen.

 

“They can’t get through, but I don’t know how long it will last.”

 

“I assume that’s the reason we’re not floating in zero gravity too?”

 

“Yes, or suffocating. Or being ripped apart, or-”

 

“Yes, alright Bucky!”

 

Bucky smirked, some of the mischief returning to his eyes, then flicked his tongue out to lick his plush lower lip. Steve quickly glanced away, desperate to keep focus. If he allowed himself, he could gaze at Bucky for hours, but he needed answers and he needed to find his friends.

 

“Bucky, please, I need your help. I know you can help me. And I think you want to, just…” Steve sighed, raking his hand through his hair in frustration. “Tell me what’s going on.”

 

“If I help you, I lose.”

 

“If _I_ lose, my friends will die. Whatever it is that you’d lose, it’s not the same!”

 

“No, it’s not the same,” Bucky agreed firmly, “because I’d lose _you_.”

 

Steve's brain stumbled over the words. He couldn’t help thinking of the the way Bucky's eyes had fixed on Steve when Peggy had asked him what he wanted. Like a living memory, Steve felt the same shivers all over again.

 

Bucky slowly started to move, graceful as a cat, reaching into the mound of blankets and pulling out a brown leather satchel and a book from inside it. Steve frowned when he saw that it was the same one Natasha had been reading in the library.

 

Hesitant, Bucky gazed at the cover, then he abruptly held the book out to Steve.

 

Steve blinked. He wanted to believe that Bucky was really giving this to him, the gift of knowledge. Knowledge that could potentially hurt Bucky. But Steve had seen him deceiving and trapping, never full out lying, but clever and by his very nature, dangerous.

 

“Is this a trick?”

 

Bucky actually had the cheek to look affronted, glaring at him with offended eyes, and it made Steve chuckle. The sound tumbled, a wispy peace offering into the air.

 

He ran his hand over the cover, feeling the texture of the patterned leather, brain ticking over the magnitude of the gesture.

 

Wanting to prove to Bucky that trust could go two ways, he suggested, "Thank you, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

 

Bucky snapped his head around from where he was watching a swirling circle of vibrant orange. His shock was almost amusing, but there was hope in his face too which made Steve feel like he might melt.

 

“You’ll probably find the book a more reliable source,” Bucky offered tentatively.

 

Steve just held his gaze expectantly, even though he was less than five percent sure that Bucky would come through and tell him what he needed to know.

 

But then Bucky started speaking. “I’m only one of many shadows,” he whispered, waiting a few moments before he spoke again like he was wondering if he’d get struck down. “The others like a spectacle.”

 

“Others?”

 

“The elders of my kind. Demons.” 

 

He walked across the platform, turning his back to Steve and gazing out over the twinkling stars then turning to watch a frosty looking planet as it casually pivoted a slow spin. He looked so tired. And lonely.

 

“They like to play. To torment and torture.” He turned to Steve, eyes skittering nervously, like he’d never said this out loud. “It’s not the same if their prey don’t fight back. They waste their days and the lives of humans by playing games.”

 

“Like this one?”

 

Bucky shrugs, trying to seem indifferent but failing. “They get to keep the humans that survive, but don’t make it out in time. It doesn’t matter that some don’t live to tell the tale - they’ve already played their part.”

 

“What part?”

 

“The entertainment,” Bucky said bluntly.

 

Steve tried to keep hold of his composure in the face of such malice, focusing his attention on Bucky instead of the roiling in his stomach or the chill ghosting across the back of his neck. So Steve watched and noted the effort it took Bucky to keep his face impassive - there was a tick in his jaw that belied his distant expression.

 

“And what part do you play?”

 

“Now it’s my turn to play games master.” Bucky looked like he was weighing up his next words very carefully. “I’ve been watching your world for years. They felt it was time I stopped watching and started playing. So… here we are.”

 

Steve let the silence hang heavy in the air, and took the time to absorb the new information. He couldn’t take too long; who knew when Bucky might suddenly decide to shut down.

 

“You let us believe that this was all your fault.”

 

“It is my fault,” Bucky said sharply. “I chose you to play. I’m the reason you’re here.”

 

“Why me?” It’s an echo of the question he’d asked in the parlor, the one Bucky had ignored.

 

Bucky breathed out a soundless laugh. “If you had to spend eternity with one person, wouldn’t you choose the one guy you couldn’t live without?”

 

“What? Maybe, but-”

 

“No, not maybe. I didn't mean you, because you wouldn’t,” Bucky interrupted, voice resolute. “ _You_ wouldn’t because you’d never inflict this on the person you loved.”

 

 _Loved?_ Steve sucked in a breath, uncomprehending. “Is this game your way of asking me out on a date?!”

 

Bucky’s lips twitched in a shy little smile, and it was entirely possible that there was a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

 

“Jesus, Bucky. As far as courtship rituals go, this is pretty fucked up.”

 

Bucky frowned, ignoring him. “You always want to see the good in people, but you won’t find any in me. And you know it.”

 

“I know that’s what you want me to believe.”

 

Bucky shook his head in frustration but there was still a fondness in his eyes.

 

“I don’t understand. Bucky, you don’t _know_ me. You only met me yesterday, and most of the time that we’ve spent in the same room together you’ve been an asshole and I’ve been pissed at you. How can you love someone you just met?”

 

But as the words left his lips, Steve knew the answer. Just like he knew in the parlor. It settled into his mind, like weighted dice. Bucky _did_ know him, and he knew Bucky. He had no memory, no evidence to support it, but it felt right.

 

Bucky’s eyes flicked across Steve’s face, clearly analyzing the thoughts he was failing to hide.

 

“I first saw you when you were sixteen,” Bucky almost whispered.

 

Steve didn't give himself time to freak out. “Sixteen, huh? Somehow I doubt that sixteen year old me would’ve made a good impression.”

 

“You did,” Bucky argued, his tone earnest and warm. “But we don’t have time to talk about it now.”

 

Letting out the breath he'd been holding, Steve resolved not to argue. Now wasn't the time anyway. “Okay, so what else do I need to know?”

 

“They subsist on the human life force.”

 

Steve searched through the stories he’d listened to as a child. The myth and mythology, the angels and the demons. “Like incubi?”

 

Bucky grinned wickedly and Steve blushed.

 

“That would be something, but it’s really the exact opposite. They feed on misery, death…”

 

God, and his friends were out there. “Are they safe?”

 

“Why are you making me tell you what you already know?”

 

Steve closed his eyes. Of course they weren’t _‘safe’_ , they were about to face their nightmares. “Are they… alive?”

 

“They’re exactly where I left them,” Bucky said. “Waiting for you. The other shadows can’t get to them. They’re playing my game, so the elders can’t interfere unless your friends break the rules.”

 

It was an odd way of saying that they were protected, and Steve couldn't help thinking that it was a cruel world indeed if a game that risks lives is the safest choice.

 

“They’re all waiting. Even Tim,” Bucky added with a little gleam of mischief in his eye.

 

“Tony,” Steve corrected automatically.

 

“Aah, so you do remember his name.”

 

Steve flinched.

 

“He’s somewhere special,” Bucky said, voice tinged with some of the darkness from before. “We need to have a little chat.”

 

“Don’t hurt him.”

 

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose and his mouth twisted in an unamused smile. “Why shouldn’t I? He’s taken everything from me.”

 

“He’s my friend.”

 

“But he gets to _touch_ you, Steve. I can’t-” His voice was vicious when he turned to Steve and hissed, “I hate him.”

 

“Because he’s my boyfriend?”

“If that’s what you’d call him.”

 

It _is_ , but Steve himself would concede that it certainly wasn't as simple as it sounded. If Steve could ever admit defeat, if both he and Tony could ever stop being obstinate or could bear to confront the truth, would they come out of that conversation still using the term ‘boyfriends’? Steve honestly didn't know, and that probably spoke volumes in itself.

 

“What do you care why I hate him?” Bucky continued, clearly irked and irritable. “It seems a lot of people in your world hate him.”

 

“Most people are jealous of him. His family name, his money. I don’t think you’re jealous.”

 

“That’s where you’re wrong. I _am_ jealous.” Bucky's eyes blazed. “I can have everything he has. And believe me, hedonism is a lot more fun here. But he gets you. He gets to touch you.”

 

Torn between wanting to shout at him and wanting to hold him close, Steve tried to placate him instead. “You touched me in the parlor.”

 

Bucky didn’t look mollified but there was a certain wistfulness in his eyes. It swept in and out so quickly, Steve wasn’t sure if he’d seen it at all, but he looked for it anyway.

 

He continued to look as the energy seemed to drain out of Bucky’s body, his anger fading to a simmering fizzle of gold sparks that hovered around his hands and arms and seemed to dissipate into his chestnut hair.

 

“If I asked you about that…" Steve started, "about that feeling when we touched. Would you answer me?”

 

Bucky smiled faintly but didn’t answer.

 

“Don’t you have partners here?” Maybe Steve was genuinely curious. Maybe he wanted to know if Bucky had someone special. He definitely wanted to know if he had anyone to be jealous of, even though he had no right to be.

 

And Bucky must have been able to read that on his face, would probably be able to read it from the other side of this galaxy, because he snorted and a teasing smile darted over his lips. Steve never would have thought a snort of laughter could be that attractive.

 

Steve narrowed his eyes at him. It would have been more impressive if he weren’t visibly flushed from his face down to his neck and disappearing under his worn-thin shirt.

 

“You’re a brat,” Steve told him. “You do know that don’t you?”

 

Bucky took a step closer, rubbed gold dust between his thumbs and fingertips, and gave him a shit eating grin, which Steve took as an affirmative. Steve was actually relieved to see the playful glint back in his eye.

 

“Thank you by the way,” Steve said after a few moments of quiet.

 

Bucky blinked at him, looking a little taken aback.

 

“For telling me. And…” He trailed off, embarrassed. “And for the blankets.”

 

Bucky opened his mouth slightly then clicked it shut again. It was as though nobody had ever said the words to him before. Steve wondered whether it was because he’d never done anything to warrant gratitude or whether nobody’d ever cared enough to show appreciation. Both options felt like cold twists of sadness in his chest.

 

While Bucky stared at him with a lost sort of expression, Steve noticed a rather ferocious looking owl stretching out from the nest of furs that Bucky had been sitting in. It hopped out with a ruffle of black and white feathers, its claws clinking against the glass. Steve didn’t have to look at its tufted ears to know it was Hunter.

 

Bucky smoothed a slender hand down the owl’s feathers when she flew up to his arm, and beckoned with his fingers for Steve to pet her. Steve lifted his hand tentatively, gently stroking two fingers over the crown of her head. The feathers were the softest satin under his fingertips.

 

“Does she ever take the form of something…harmless?”

 

Bucky regarded him with raised eyebrows.

 

“What?” Steve said, slightly insulted. “The dog, the wild cat, the owl. You thought I wouldn’t realize it’s the same animal.”

 

Hunter hissed.

 

“She doesn’t like the word _‘animal’_ ,” Bucky said with a chuckle and a fond expression that was so at odds with his nature. “And the answer to your question is no, she never looks ‘harmless’ ”

 

Bucky’s face had twisted up into a rather adorable look of disgust when he said the word ‘harmless’, and Steve had to stop himself grinning. He didn’t think Bucky would appreciate being thought of as adorable.

 

“I told you,” Bucky added, watching the play of Steve’s fingers through the owl's feathers and clearly oblivious to Steve’s amusement. “She’s a hunter.”

 

“But what  _is_ she? Really?”

 

“She’s part of me.”

 

Steve heard the answer, looked at his hand as it reverently stroked dappled white feathers, and of Bucky and how he really shouldn’t touch him, in any way, and snatched his hand away abruptly.

 

Bucky giggled, there was no other word for it and there was certainly no other sound to compare it to. If an agent of the devil could giggle, then Bucky was most certainly giggling. It was dreamy and elated, and Steve wanted to hear it again right that instant.

 

“Relax, Steve – we’re not connected right now.” He laughed again at Steve’s blatant relief. “I can see through her eyes when I want to. She can sense my emotions. We move together.” He shrugged casually. “We’re a team, but we can only be connected when we’re not sharing the same space.”

 

Steve thought back to the lynx in the corridor, and the way it seemed personified in its irritation and delight by the pool. Bucky hadn’t been there, but had he been connected to Hunter then?

 

While he’d been lost in thought, Hunter had flown off, out of the golden shield and into the inky veil beyond, and Bucky was peering up at Steve through lowered lashes.

 

Very slowly, Bucky pressed forward into Steve’s space, a wild, flirtatious smile on his lips. Steve despised himself for the lust his body pumped into his blood stream. It flowed through every vein and left little shocks in its wake. But he couldn’t help it, Bucky was lit up brighter than the flaming stars around them.

 

They were so close, Bucky must have been able to feel the rapid thud, thud, thud of his heart. So close, close enough that Bucky would just have to bend his head to kiss him. And Steve was very close to letting him. To forget about everything else and just give in to the aching need to taste and touch. To yield, to make Bucky shudder for him, steal his breath and just give him what he wanted.

 

There was barely a slip of space between them, but they weren’t quite touching. It was both an agony and a relief because Steve wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to resist if he felt that lightening connection between them again. The one from the parlor, the one that had him desperate to reach across the gap and meet Bucky skin on skin and feel that delicious shock of energy arcing from his stomach through every nerve again. The one that sent literal sparks of golden magic into the air.

 

Steve felt Bucky's heat, breathed in his scent - like woods in winter - and his body responded, drawn forwards, anticipating the hot press of their bodies, all hard lines and soft curves melting together.

 

From under lowered lashes, electric blue eyes slid down to follow the curve of Steve’s lips. His own mouth parted, hesitating just that bit too far away as he instinctively tilted his head, waiting, longing, desperately wanting.

 

There was a liquid coil of innate lust in his stomach, but he wanted what he couldn’t have, and there was a steady rising of guilt that felt like ice water dousing him back to sense. It took hold and gripped tight, a friction burn across his skin, and instead of feeling relieved that he was coming to his senses, stopping himself from doing something monumentally stupid and wrong, he let out a soft whimper of disappointment because he knew he’d have to step away.

 

In the end he didn’t have to move at all. Bucky did.

 

Natasha always warned Steve that he was an open book, but Bucky apparently knew his language like nobody else, and Steve could tell that he’d realized where Steve’s thoughts had gone. He watched, helplessly, as Bucky’s face shuttered down, desire vanishing, and stepped back with deliberate steps. Staring after him, he frantically wanted to pull him back in and then… and then…

 

“Fuck,” Steve breathed out.

 

Bucky nipped at his bottom lip, eyes wide. They stared at each other for a few long moments, until Steve could rewire his brain to calm his desire, and unravel the wild tangle of emotions that Bucky always seemed to ignite.

 

Eventually, when Steve was sure he could speak evenly again, he met Bucky's eyes with a beseeching look. “You need to get me back. I have to help my friends.”

 

“You have to _save_ them,” Bucky corrected pointedly.

 

Steve drew in a long breath, feeling the air and weight of responsibilities like broken glass in his throat. “Yes, and maybe save you too.”

 

Bucky folded his arms in front of his chest. “I’m immortal.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Well. Immortal-ish.”

 

“That’s not a real thing.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I can be… erased.”

 

“Let me help you.”

 

Bucky’s teeth flashed in a playful smirk. “Help me what? Be erased?”

 

“No,” Steve snapped, annoyed with Bucky’s teasing. “You know what I mean. I want to help you.”

 

“You can’t fix me, Steve,” Bucky said, voice turning hard. “You have no idea the horrors I’ve created. The blood on my hands. _I’m_ the animal, not Hunter. Just leave it alone.”

 

Steve flexed his hands into fists. He couldn’t understand why Bucky kept throwing shadows in his path when all he wanted to do was help.

 

“But-” Steve could see instantly that he’d pushed too far. Bucky’s face changed in a split second, his whole demeanor turning sharp.

 

“For once in your life will you just shut up and do as you’re told!”

 

Steve pulled back, stumbling half a step away from the darkness in his voice. But he couldn’t shut up, he felt like any minute Bucky was going to disappear and send him back into the paper house, and he still didn’t know enough about what they were dealing with.

 

“Who’s next?”

 

Bucky threw his hands up in the air like he honestly didn’t know what to do in the face of Steve’s stubbornness.

 

“Let’s send you back and you can find out for yourself.”

 

Steve opened his mouth to protest but a golden shimmery rain of glitter was already starting to form around him and he knew it was too late. It got thicker and thicker but before it consumed him completely, he heard Bucky’s fierce whisper:

 

“Don’t look at their faces.”

~

**Notes:**

 

  * **Chapter title definition.** Downtime: The time that a player spends doing nothing while waiting for the game to more forwards



 

  * Sorry if all you want to do is push their heads together and shout ‘kiss’ – believe me, I want to! But it goes against my *solemn voice* ‘plot plan'. But soon, I promise!




	7. Wargame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that I have added an extra tag for violence (also see extra notes at the end, or contact me on Tumblr if you have any questions about the tag, or anything in fact!)

~

_'Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?'_

_'That is the only time a man can be brave.'_

\- George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

~

 

The air shivered, and Steve shivered with it. Bucky’s warning span through his head as fast as the cyclone of gold around him.

 

_\- “Don’t look at their faces.”_

The urgent whisper burned through the thundering hurricane in his ears. Over and over until the gale ebbed and the shimmer started to clear, and a new sound could be heard. A nervy murmur followed by a calming reply.

 

When his vision returned and his feet finally hit the ground, the momentum threw him stumbling right into Clint’s back. _So_ , Steve thought miserably, _it’s Clint’s turn_.

 

His brain was slowed by vertigo, but it struck him that if he could think quickly enough, then maybe – just maybe – they might have a chance.

 

As he rebalanced them both, Steve’s mind raced to think of all the possible nightmares Clint could have drawn, in an attempt to prepare them for the trial to come. But he had almost a whole lifetime’s worth of Clint-related memories to search through and his friend had started to stare at him with an expression of intense concern.

 

“Are you alright, man?” Clint asked, then pulled a face when he realized what a ridiculous question it was.

 

A deep laugh bubbled up in Steve’s chest. “Yeah, not really, but thanks for asking. You?”

 

“Yeah, still alive.”

 

Steve really wished Clint hadn’t said that. There was a feeling like ice through Steve’s veins and the smile faded from his face.

 

“What?” Clint asked with a tired attempt at a smirk. “You wish I weren’t, buddy?”

 

“Clint,” he scolded in a low voice. He didn’t want to hear Clint joking about life and death, not when they were about to face his nightmare.

 

“Ignore him,” Sam's voice advised from behind, making Steve jump.

 

Turning, Steve found it hard to summon a genuine smile for his friend, because now he had two friends at immediate risk. If only Steve had managed to get Bucky to tell him who's nightmare was next.

 

He pulled Sam in for a hug. “Good to see you,” he lied.

 

“You too, man.”

 

“As delightful as this is,” Peggy said from the stone steps, “we probably need to get moving.”

 

Steve smiled; at least Peggy's nightmare was over. Her face was smudged with dirt, but she was dry and looked otherwise unharmed.

 

Her eyes darted upwards and Steve followed her gaze to a splendid grand staircase. It reminded him of something from an opera house. It climbed regally, diverging into two flights that led to opposing doors. Above it, the ceiling vaulted up, carved stone in the most intricate and beautiful of designs.

 

“That door opened when Steve arrived,” Peggy added, inclining her head to the left flight of stairs.

 

From what Steve could make out at a distance, the door itself was made of dilapidated stone, with ivy creeping around the hinges. It was definitely the poorer of the two doors, and far less appealing, but the smarter door was shut on them.

 

“Finally,” Clint muttered. “They’ve been locked since we got here.”

 

“How long?” Steve asked, trying to gauge the passage of time.

 

“Hard to tell,” Sam responded. “Clint and I were here from the beginning, then Peg turned up about an hour ago.”

 

When Steve turned back to Clint, it was to find his friend staring at him with a puzzled expression.

 

“Where have you been?” There was a discernible note of suspicion in Clint’s voice, and he was looking Steve up and down like his appearance would give him all the answers he needed.

 

That’s when Steve noticed that he still had the leather satchel over one shoulder and that there was a plush fur blanket at his feet.

 

There was a pause as they all turned to stare at him.

 

Steve flushed. “I, umm...”

 

“Have you, by and chance, been visited by our shadow friend?” Peggy asked, eyebrow arched.

 

“Well, yes...”

 

“Can I ask what you’ve been doing?” Clint asked cautiously, “Because this blanket suggests snuggling.”

 

Sam let out a snort of laughter, to which Clint responded with a withering look.

 

“Obviously not _with_ the psychotic magician,” he clarified.

 

Steve choked on nothing but air, and Sam’s eyes darted to him like he'd just noticed something very important.

 

Ignoring Sam's expression, Steve abruptly pushed the fur out towards Peggy, as though he might convince them all that it was meant for her. She took it from his hands, humoring him, but all the while assessing his face with her eyes.

 

Steve breathed out hard. He needed to fill them in on all he’d learnt on the glass platform, but he was damn sure it was going to be a carefully edited version. So he talked, relaying the story but keeping tightly to the facts, studiously avoiding any mention of soft blue sweaters and heated almost-kisses.

 

“I know it sounds crazy,” he finished.

 

Sam’s wry smile simultaneously warmed and worried him. “No more crazy than anything else we’ve seen or heard today.”

 

“The others, the older demons... I think they’re controlling Bucky and making him run the game.”

 

Sam frowned. “Why?”

 

“For sport,” he said in an attempt to explain the unexplainable. To answer almost felt like he was sanctioning the horrors, but he kept the shudder inside. He needed to be strong for whoever’s nightmare came next. “It’s just entertainment to them.”

 

Sam looked as disgusted as Steve felt. He was leaning back against a thick marble pillar with a statue sat at the top, set with a metal lamp and a live flame. It loomed over Sam, casting flickering shadows over his face.

 

Steve paused, finding the image unnerving, then dipped his hand into the bag and pulled out the book. “Bucky gave me this.”

 

Instantly recognizing it, Peggy warily took it from Steve’s hand. “I thought he wouldn’t want you to read it,” she said in surprise. “Surely as far as he’s concerned, the less we know the better?”

 

She turned the volume over in her hands, opening it up on a miscellaneous page, thin sheets of paper slipping past her fingers. The open page showed a linear diagram, annotated with a dark cursive script.

 

“I thought that too,” he said softly. “But he gave it to me. I didn’t even ask for it.”

 

Peggy looked at him carefully. “You trust him?” There was no judgment in her voice. It was like she was simply observing and clarifying.

 

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

 

“Okay." The word itself sounded like a full stop. It was decisive, and so _Peggy_ that it made him smile.

 

“You trust him too?”

 

“No,” she said, “but I trust you.”

 

Steve smiled, touched. “What happened after I was, you know...?” He poorly mimed being whisked away by magic.

 

“I passed out, then woke up here,” she said, indicating around her. “Only I didn’t get a snuggie.”

 

Steve coughed.

 

“Peggy said you saw Nat,” Clint said urgently. “Was she okay?”

 

Peggy looked at Steve over Clint shoulder, her expression clearly conveying: _‘I’ve told him she was fine’._

 

“Yeah, man. She was good,” he said, clapping Clint on the shoulder. What else could he say? Relatively speaking, she was fine. She was still trapped in a game for her life like all the rest of them. But she was okay. “Have you seen anyone else?”

 

They started up the stairs, Clint holding the bronze balustrade a little tighter than necessary.

 

“No, nobody,” he said distractedly, before abruptly adding, “Is this thing going to move?” They all looked at him blankly. “Like in Harry Potter,” he elaborated.

 

Steve laughed as though it was a joke but stopped when he realized that, yes, the staircase could probably, legitimately move.

 

They all pressed forward, onwards and upwards, tentatively after that, all staying to the left when the steps split, heading to the open door in a silent consensus. The door was almost off its hinges, battered and stressed by the plant forcing its way around and over it like it might consume it given enough time.

 

Steve paused at the threshold, glancing at his friends. Clint gave the other door, with its sleek black ebony, one last longing look before stepping though.

 

The room through the door wasn’t a room at all. It was a valley, flanked on both sides by mountains, some of which disappeared up into wisps of clouds. The lowlands were full of lush grass, tree ferns and cypresses. It was idyllic. Or at least it should be, but they all knew why they were there.

 

“Does this look like _anything_ anyone drew on their card?” Peggy asked.

 

“No,” Sam said. “I wish it was. Could’ve saved ourselves a ton of trouble by drawing peaceful landscapes.”

 

Clint grinned. “It almost looks a bit...” He trailed off, visibly paling at whatever thought was passing through his mind. “... Jurassic.”

 

Steve turned to him quickly, blood spiking with adrenalin. "Tell me that is not what you drew.”

 

Clint looked at him, his face contorted with panic. “No! I mean, no I didn’t!”

 

Peggy caught Steve’s gaze, her eyes wide. She knew as well as Steve that it wasn’t just their drawings they needed to worry about.

 

Steve shook his head, trying to remain calm. “The game feeds off of our fears. Are you afraid of dinosaurs?”

 

“You ever met someone that isn’t?!”

 

“But they don’t _exist_ ,” Peggy pointed out quietly.

 

Steve screwed his eyes shut. A moment’s respite before he had to say something he really didn’t want to. “They might exist here.”

 

“Fuck,” Clint muttered, hands clenching at his sides.

 

Steve’s mind was suddenly overrun by a hunting pack of fierce creatures, circling, chattering bloodcurdling messages of death to each other. He pressed his fingers across his forehead like he might be able to push the image out of his mind.

 

“Just- let’s try not to think of anything that can eat us.”

 

They pressed on in near silence, walking further into the open plateau. The wind rustled the trees, sifted tender fingers of breeze through the strands of grass. Steve watched the mesmerizing wave of vibrant green –

 

– as red started to creep through.

 

As though he was seeing through a hazy dreamlike filter, he watched the red seep over the grass as everything else faded into muted grays.

 

The red kept creeping in and no amount of blinking was chasing it away. It covered every blade of grass from the outside of the glade to the middle. Until finally, the ground was drenched in blood. Saturated in it, like the soil was so full there was nowhere for it to go but swamp the land. It pooled around their shoes. Clint was gagging.

 

At first it was just the blood, then Steve saw the men. Dead men. Falling, dying, screaming their last breaths into the indifferent air, leached of their life-force in the sticky thick lake of blood. Steve’s stomach revolted, his lungs stuck on exhale, blood running quick and cold and sending prickles of fight or flight into his fingertips and toes.

 

Then the veil of red was gone. The land was a peaceful, harmonious green again. And there was no sign it had ever looked any different.

 

“Did- did anyone else see that?” Peggy breathed, a horrified gasp of sound.

 

Steve gave Peggy a reluctant nod and went back to looking at the grass, felt like it was falling away from him. The ground was usually such a comfort to him - a solid foundation under his panicked hands, an anchor to reality even when his mind was lost to anxiety. This felt like a betrayal.

 

Then the ground quaked. Solid earth under his feet shifting and stuttering, unbalancing Sam and knocking him into Steve. When it stopped they waited in its wake to see its consequence.

 

The answer came in the form of a low distant rumbling. A thundering whomp, whomp, whomp that was getting louder, like the blades of an approaching helicopter. And that was exactly what it was, a Chinook rising over the mountain ahead of them, throwing branches and leaves back with the force of propulsion.

 

“Who put that there?” Clint demanded, voice tight. "This part isn't me - I swear!"

 

It took Steve all too long to realize that Sam was violently trembling beside him.

 

“Sam?”

 

Sam hadn’t registered Steve’s voice at all. His eyes were wide, hands shaking.

 

Steve looked back over his shoulder to the door. He knew it was pointless, but he did it anyway, and Peggy and Clint were doing the same thing. They saw exactly what they knew they would: a closed door.

 

The helicopter faced off with them and started to descend with windows like eyes, tandem rotors thundering. The friends pressed in towards each other, watching terrified as the helicopter landed, and dozens of men poured out of a wide loading ramp at the rear.

 

A cold shiver of fear ran down Steve’s spine, but it must have been nothing compared to what Sam was feeling, standing frozen with hot tears streaming from his eyes.

The soldiers continued to spill out, dozens of them, all wearing combat gear and strange mesh masks. They reminded Steve of fencing masks, only instead of wielding a harmless foil, each soldier was armed with an automatic assault rifle.

 

That’s when Steve suddenly realized that he knew what Sam couldn’t say. He'd been there when Sam got the news about Riley. Saw him crumple when he recognized the army insignia, and was there to comfort him through the loss of a friend. So Steve knows what they’re meant to represent, these faceless soldiers.

 

He grabbed Sam’s arm, and hoped it was a small comfort.

 

It was almost absurd, but the soldiers didn't seem to have noticed them. The four were standing in plain sight, the only cover being around the outer edges of the glade, but they were being ignored in favour of the area of forest to the right of the valley.

 

Even if they weren't the target, Steve knew they needed to get out of the way. They could creep back and run, but he was afraid it would attract attention.

 

“Peggy,” he said, trying to be quiet but ending up shouting over the noise of the engine and blades. “Run for cover over by that rock. They’ll spot you, but we’ll be ready to distract them.”

 

“You’re an idiot if you think I’ll let you do that!”

 

He wasn’t an idiot. He turned to Clint. “Grab her and run!”

 

Clint nodded, picked Peggy up, held her as she struggled against his grasp and ran.

 

It should have drawn the soldiers’ attention. There was no way they hadn’t seen the obvious movement, or hadn't heard Peggy shouting into Clint’s ear in outrage. But the troops carried on inching towards the forest edge, guns raised and steps measured on stealthy feet. Masks eerily obscuring their features.

 

But there was one without a mask at all.

 

A skinny sixteen year old kid, and one that Steve recognized very well. All Brooklyn and knobbly knees and elbows, Steve’s younger self was holding a weapon and had dead, hollow eyes.

 

“Riley?” Sam gasped, a noise that sounded like his heart was seizing, snapping and shattering.

 

Steve turned to Sam quickly in confusion, because they were obviously seeing different people in that unmasked face.

 

Spinning back around, Steve wondering if he’d see Riley too, but it was still him. He let his eyes roam over his own pointed face, sharp chin and cheekbones. And then the face of little Steve Rogers was gone, the anonymous mask returned, and in the next horrifying instant, each and every one of the soldiers looked his way, heads snapping in a spine-chilling single-minded unison.

 

“Oh, shit.”

 

Because now they’d noticed them.

 

_\- “Don’t look at their faces.”_

 

“Sam!”

 

Dozens of sinister faces were trained on them, and there was a long moment of sickening anticipation where Steve ironically felt like he was the one with his finger on the trigger.

 

Then the shooting started. He didn’t have to make Sam run, they were both sprinting to the rock that Clint took Peggy as the sound of bullets filled the air. Overshooting, falling short, missing them by fractions, until a ricochet ripped into Steve’s bicep.

 

His body didn’t register the impact or the pain until after they’d reached cover and he’d flung himself flat against the bolder, breathing hard. His blood was pounding through his veins, louder even that the crack of bullets as they met rock, or the dull thud as they hit the earth.

 

He dimly registered Peggy carefully checking him over and looked down to see blood spilling along the length of his arm. He clasped the wound with his other hand, numb with shock, and blood seeped through his fingers, but he couldn't think about it, not now that they were the target of steady and unceasing gunfire. He couldn’t see, but he knew they’d be drawing in, pressing closer, locking them down. Outnumbering, outgunning and outmaneuvering them.... and there was nothing they could do.

 

Peggy grabbed at him and jerked him further into the cover of the bank, but not before another bullet raced past his flank, just catching his skin. The pain couldn’t be stopped now, but Steve's injuries had pulled Sam out of his head. The need to help, to protect, had his brain switching gears and he was taking Steve’s weight, pressing down against his waist and telling Peggy to do the same with his arm.

 

All the while there was wave after wave of fire. Faceless soldiers drawing closer. And Clint was right in front of him, his face fading in and out with Steve’s vision. He was yelling something, but agony had crippled Steve's ear drums, obliterated his thought processes, and the next thing he knew, Sam and Clint were dragging him along the stone to an opening.

 

It was a cave. But it was also a trap. He was coherent enough to see that at least, but they had nowhere else to go. So he took as much of his weight as he could as they rushed forward, into the mouth of the cave.  
  
  
It was a surprise when the gunshots ceased as quickly as they had started, and the echoing dome of rock filled with deafening silence. 

 

Steve threw a frantic look over his shoulder in time to see a semi-transparent wall of gold cover the opening.

 

The soldiers had frozen mid-advance. They didn’t even try and fire across the divide or to walk through it. Their stiffened spines slowly relaxed and their weapons fell to their sides as they started a slow, watchful retreat. Seeing the masks so close was chilling. Behind the mesh, he could imagine eyes of rage. Or worse, dead, unseeing blankness.

 

Weak, dirty and bruised, the friends exchanged glances. Sam’s eyes were glazed. Haunted.

 

Then the air was throbbing with Bucky’s anger.

 

“I told you not to look at their faces!” he growled, the rage in his voice like shards of chipped ice.

 

He stormed out of the shadows, his whole body buzzing with dark indignation. Hunter in husky form trotted at his feet, looking every bit as angry as Bucky. Her snout was wrinkled up as though she was poised to snarl.

 

“What were you thinking?!”

 

As distracted as he was by the white hot pain, Steve couldn’t miss the way Bucky’s cool blue eyes were bright with an emotion infinitely softer than anger.

 

“I thought you meant the other shadow men,” Steve said weakly, wincing when the movement of his chest drove piercing needles into his flank. “You need to be clearer with your cryptic riddles,” he finished before collapsing further into Clint’s solid body.

 

In one quick sweep Bucky took in the two bullet wounds and the way Steve was hanging on to his friend and rushed to Steve’s side. Clint was reluctant to let him go, but Steve was out of his arms and into Bucky’s before he could protest.

 

An electric charge surged through Steve’s body as Bucky’s hand met his and held him against his chest. It buzzed against Steve’s skin, a shot of euphoria straight to the vein. The feeling lightened him, lifted him in sweet cascades of pleasure. He was too tired and in too much pain to deny himself, and Bucky was pulling on the thread of Steve’s self control, letting it unravel and twine through his fingers.

 

He rode the shock, rocked into it, and into Bucky, dissolving into the strong hold. Softening like butter over heat.

 

In the back of his mind and out of the corner of his eye, he knew his friends were staring at them in varying degrees of shock. He knew they made quite the tableau.

 

Clint, Sam and Peggy would all have heard the embarrassing whimper he made, and the way Bucky smiled a tickle of laughter into the curve of Steve’s neck.

 

Steve wasn’t _quite_ pulling Bucky into his lap, but there wasn’t much difference between that and the way he was trying to press every inch of Bucky's body against his own; the differentiation was simply shades and nuances.

 

Steve caught his three friends exchanging shocked glances and swallowed. As much as he wanted to fall further, he knew he couldn’t. Resentfully he drew Bucky’s hands away from where they were gently stroking his arms.

 

“Bucky,” he said, grimacing against the pain and the words he knew he had to say. “Don’t use your magic on me.”

 

Bucky blinked. “I’m not.”

 

Steve met his eyes, mirrored the confusion he saw there. He’d been clinging to the vain hope that Bucky had some kind of hold on him, was using his magic to overwhelm him and make him crazy with want. But he believed Bucky; he never thought the power of his own agency could be this terrifying.

 

“But I’ll need to use magic to heal you,” Bucky added. “We have to stop the bleeding.”

 

Steve nodded and Bucky helped him move so that his back was propped against the rock. Bucky pulled off the collarless black leather jacket he was wearing, and draped it over Steve’s shoulders.

 

“Sit back,” he instructed. Steve frowned, then realized that he’d been inadvertently leaning into Bucky again. The demon looked at him with a knowing smile. “Come on Steve, lean back. I need to get to the wounds.”

 

Steve did as he was asked even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, and he shot Bucky a mutinous glare to ensure he knew as much. He only received a laugh in response.

 

Bucky flexed the fingers of his right hand, and like lighting a match, gold specks burst into existence and hovered excitedly.

 

“Wait! What are you doing?” Clint demanded, rushing forwards. “Don’t touch him!”

 

Steve couldn’t really blame him. The last time the others saw Bucky he was cold, arguably cruel and coming within a hairs breadth of breaking Natasha’s ankle. He was a thing of darkness, and only Steve had seen the gentle, fragile boy behind the shadow.

 

“Back off,” Bucky snapped with a growl.

 

He twisted his body to face Clint so quickly none of the others saw it coming, then held his hand up in the air and created a half moon barrier between them. Clint stumbled, flat footed in the face of the gleaming force field.

 

“Back. Off,” Bucky repeated darkly.

 

Steve couldn’t see Bucky’s face, but he could imagine the fierce protective anger in his eyes. He reached out to touch Bucky’s forearm, to soothe him, but when his fingers connected with Bucky’s bare skin, another golden layer zapped into existence in front of the first, reinforcing the barrier and making it hum like an electric cable.

 

A moment of dumb-founded confusion later, Steve whipped his hand away. The barrier’s second skin slid away with another _zap_ and went back to its original form. That didn’t last long either, because Bucky was slowly lowering his hand and looking at Steve in amazement. 

 

“What was that?” Steve gasped.

 

Bucky shook his head, eyes wide. “I don’t know.”

 

It sounded as though Bucky hadn’t uttered those words in a long time. They stared at each other until Steve could no longer hold in a quiet moan. “Cold.”

 

Bucky immediately re-focused his attention back to Steve’s wounds and Peggy put her hand on Clint’s arm.

 

“I think he’s going to help,” she told him, pulling his arm to encourage his retreat.

 

Clint grudgingly stepped back, looking suspicious. Steve watched Bucky press down on the wound at his side and groaned in pain. Bucky’s hands were soon red with blood, and somehow a line had ended up smeared across his cheekbone.

\-  " _You have no idea the horrors I’ve created. The blood on my hands.”_

 

Magic crackled around Bucky's fingertips. Not just gold, but electric blue, the color of Bucky’s eyes, and silver like liquid metal, spinning and popping, and the wound was healing. His skin was knitting together, a faint silver scar taking its place. Steve gasped a few quick breaths.

 

“Better?”

 

“Yeah,” he breathed, awed. It elicited a small smile from Bucky’s lips.

 

“Shit,” Clint gasped in disbelief as he hovered over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky glowered at him, and Clint’s face paled.

 

Satisfied, Bucky turned back to Steve. It was embarrassing that the first thought through Steve’s mind once the pain was gone was how beautiful Bucky’s long lashes were against his defined cheekbones, the little bit of kindness round his eyes, and how perfect his chest looked through the tight white v-neck. The relief and gratitude came second, and Steve blamed the shock.

 

“I can’t take the scars,” Bucky murmured regretfully. “I’m sorry.”

 

Bucky opened his mouth to say something else, but Sam spoke instead.

 

“You made Riley.”

 

The dull sound of Sam’s voice shocked Steve. He’d been so quiet. Now his words were flat and emotionless.

 

Steve’s chest tightened under the pressure of Sam’s pain, the weight of responsibility, and the anticipation of Bucky’s reaction. Bucky could go any number of ways on this. The Bucky from the astrology platform would show remorse, the Bucky from the parlor would be menacing, and the Bucky from the games stores would be indifferent. 

 

“Yes,” Bucky answered quietly, looking like he wanted to apologize but not knowing how to form the words.

 

Sam nodded. “Can you make him again?”

 

The words shocked Steve to the core. He was expecting Sam to be angry, furious that Bucky had forced him to see his beloved best friend, long dead. He certainly hadn’t imagined Sam would want him to do it again.

 

Steve urgently shouted, “No”, at the same time that Bucky answered, “Yes.”

 

“No,” Steve repeated quickly. “Bucky, you can’t.” His voice was firmer than he’d ever heard from his own lips. All he knew was that the idea of creating a new Riley was making him sick to his stomach.

 

“He just said he can!” Sam shouted back at Steve, aggressive in his grief.

 

Bucky looked between them. “Steve’s right,” he said quietly. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. The Riley you’d get isn’t your Riley.”

 

Sam visibly deflated, like his chest was caving in, drawing his whole body inwards like the gravitational collapse of a dying star.

 

“Is it over?” Peggy asked, voice tight with emotion. “Did we win? Is that why they left? Because we’d finished Sam’s nightmare?”

 

“No,” Bucky said shortly, shaking his head like he was annoyed with himself. “We better hope the elders don’t find out about this.”

 

“You stopped it?”

 

Bucky’s face thawed under Steve’s appreciative gaze. He nodded, a minute little head tilt, as though he was embarrassed under the heat of Steve’s praise.

 

“What will happen to you if they find out?”

 

“Nothing permanent,” Bucky said, a little too flippantly. “I’m immortal.”

-   _“Immortal-ish... I can be erased.”_

 

Their eyes met and it was obvious that Bucky was also remembering that conversation, but Steve was quickly distracted by a bloom of red on Bucky’s sleeve where his arm was bleeding out through the material of his t-shirt.

 

Steve's eyes flicked down to Bucky’s waist just as a patch of the brightest scarlet burst through the cloth. Bucky’s usually clear eyes were hazy with pain.

 

“Fuck. Bucky!”

 

Steve pulled at the material, lifting it up and away from the wound - Steve’s wound, on Bucky's skin.

 

Clint started forward as though he was considering taking Bucky on while he was weak, but Peggy stopped him and stood in his path. “Didn’t you just see what he did for Steve?” she asked in a forceful whisper.

 

Steve watched in amazement as Bucky’s torn skin started to repair, surprisingly gently, in front of Steve’s eyes.

 

“Told you, I’m immortal.”

 

Steve continued to look. Long after the wound was healed, his eyes roamed the creamy pale skin of Bucky’s abdomen, the lines of muscle. He didn’t even realize he was doing it. Bucky looked both hard and soft and Steve wanted to be rid of that ridiculous, pointless shirt. The satisfied smirk in Bucky’s eyes was evidence enough that he’d witnessed the lingering gaze.

 

He was surprised that he had enough blood to spare, but he felt his face heating. He dropped the hem of the shirt like it had burnt him.

 

Bucky’s smile widened. “Need me to take this off so you can check properly?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the smoky look Bucky was turning on him. Bucky laughed, a joyful bubble of a thing, and moved away, leaving Steve’s skin screaming for more as the delicious buzz faded.

 

Bucky leaned back against the cave wall in between Clint and Sam, and facing Peggy. He looked between them with an amused expression on his face.

 

“So, this is tense,” he said cheerfully.

 

Clint glared, and Bucky tilted his chin up with a wicked smile.

 

“Are you helping us?” Peggy interrogated from the opposite side of the cave.

 

“I’m helping myself,” he said in a whimsical tone. It was a lie - Bucky knew it and Steve knew it. And because his friends weren’t idiots, they sensed it too.

 

Steve sighed. The loss of Bucky’s touch was agony, but Hunter remained and leant her chin on his thigh, eyes sleepy and soft. Steve relaxed, comforted by the texture of black and white fur under his fingers and Bucky-warmed leather around his shoulders.

 

On the other side of the cave, Bucky stretched his clasped hands apart, shaping thin air into a hollow golden ball. He passed it from hand to hand absently, and it occurred to Steve that it was probably more of a comfort than a demonstration of power.

 

Apparently aware that his bravado was proving pointless, Bucky’s face settled into a softer expression. He no longer looked like he might joyfully stab Clint, Sam or Peggy in the heart.

 

He clicked his fingers and the ball disappeared, and Steve got the feeling that Bucky was preparing to wrap up this little interlude.

 

“I can’t get involved in the next one,” he said gently, focusing on Steve.

 

“I know. I don’t want you to be in any more danger.”

 

Bucky looked at him, intense like he was desperate to explain, but he couldn’t. “It’s not that. I just- I just can’t help you with this one.”

 

Steve’s field of vision was awash with winter blue eyes one minute, and the next he was in a world of black and white.

 

There he stood, unsure and shocked… and directly in front of Tony.

 

_\- “I just can’t help you with this one.”_

 

**Notes:**

 

  * **Chapter definition.** Wargame: A game in which players put military units or military-type units in direct or indirect conflict with each other. The goal of these games is typically annihilation of opponents and/or the attainment of certain strategic conditions.



 

  * This chapter includes some reference and description to soldiers, violence and combat



 

 

 

 

 

 

  * Feel free to come chat to me or ask me questions on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/little-lottie). My inbox is always open



  

  * I’m planning to do a chapter in which we see Bucky and Tony’s interactions between chapter 5 and taking us up to the point that we see Tony again in Chapter 8. I’ll post it as a separate coda fic as it will be from Bucky’s POV, but I will link it to this fic.



 


	8. Strafe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess that I found this chapter the trickiest yet, so I really hope its okay and that you all like it.  
>    
> It’s also practically two chapters in one, because I completely misjudged the amount of work it would involve when I planned it out. But once it was planned, I felt compelled to write it all.  
>    
> Please note the anxiety tag, and there is also a very small reference to minor self harm. Please see the end notes for details of this, for other notes and for a link to a pic which inspired Bucky's outfit in this chapter.

~

 _‘Once lust has turned to dust and all that's left's held breath._ _Forgotten who we first met._  
  
_What seemed like a good idea has turned into a battlefield.’_

- Lea Michele, Battlefield

~

 

Tony’s nightmare was set in a world that was drained of color.

 

The ground under Steve's feet was tiled, a black and white chess board that hurt Steve’s eyes and made him think of wrong moves and checkmates.

 

The gloss black walls curved to form an endless circle which showed nothing of the world outside, only eerie reflections of the emptiness within. There were no seams, no cracks or joins where the material had been fused together. It wasn’t made, it was created, with none of the limitations of engineering. It was a solid cage containing Steve, Tony and their reflections. And nowhere to hide.

 

Tony himself seemed pale and drawn, standing lost in the middle of it all. There was an odd formality in the way he was holding himself, in the guarded expression that veiled his eyes and the tension that radiated from his body. When Steve stepped towards him, he jumped back.

 

Tensing, Steve watched as Tony warily eyed him from across the room. Not too long ago, one of them would have been rushing to fold the other into an embrace - as friends first, then lovers later. Now there was just distance and loaded silence, and Steve wouldn’t have been surprised to hear the spinning click of a revolver, daring them to play roulette.

 

The only color in the haunting monochrome was cast by tiny orbs of light which floated indifferently around them and glowed a confrontational red. The scarlet balls pitched fevered dark smudges across Tony’s face and made him look tired and ill.

 

“Hey Tony," Steve said gently. "How’re you holding up?”

 

“I wondered when you’d get here.” Tony's voice was rough with emotion and there was an intensity in his eyes, like an accusation. As though Steve had bought Tony’s nightmare into the room with him.

 

Steve frowned. “I couldn’t get here any sooner. It was Peggy’s nightmare first, then Sam’s.” Tony remained uncharacteristically silent, and Steve couldn’t help nervously filling the void. “I’ve been in everyone’s nightmare so far. I think I’m supposed to help.”

 

Tony’s spine stiffened and he let out a bark of skeptical laughter.

 

Steve instantly bristled. “What’s so funny?”

 

“Oh, nothing. It’s just ironic.”

 

Steve bit his lip, knowing that Tony was needling and looking for a reaction. Steve refused to rise to the bait; it would just make things worse. And besides, Tony didn't seem interested in expanding on his answer anyway.

 

Some of the heat in Tony’s stare diminished, and with a sickening realization, Steve knew that the familiarity of their bickering had probably reassured him. How had they ended up here? Where the only comfort they could offer each other stemmed from argument and dissent.

 

 “What can we expect, Tony? What’s your nightmare?”

 

Tony ignored him and looked away, breathing out hard. “Chess, apparently.”

 

Steve sighed and waited, knowing that Tony was deliberately diverting. He wouldn’t push, because there was no point trying to move Tony once he’d dug his heels in.

 

After minutes of silence, Steve moved to a random point on the curving wall and sat down. “Ignore me all you like, but unless you take this seriously and let me help you, we’re going to be stuck here a while. A long while.”

 

Steve looked away from him. He knew full well that Tony would be rolling his eyes, he just didn’t want to see it. He pulled the book out of the satchel and sat it in his lap, feeling strangely uncomfortable about the way his legs sprawled with random disregard for the straight lines, right angles and strict configuration of black and white tiles.

 

Before he started reading, he let his eyes roam around the room. He wondered if he looked hard enough whether he might be able to make out new patterns in the squares under his feet or in their grayscale reflections on the polished walls. He remembered Sam explaining that one person will process what’s right in front of them completely differently to another, and he wondered what Tony saw right now.

 

 _“You’d think that we’d all look at one room and see the exact same things,”_ Sam had said. _“It’s easy to assume that our eyes give us direct access to reality in any given situation, but really our brains are just guessing most of it.”_

Steve had always been fascinated with the idea of billions of different brains individually stitching together everything they see, hear, smell and touch, then filling in the gaps so that each person saw the world in their own unique way. But thinking about it now made him feel alone. And even further away from Tony, who even on this, the most fundamental of levels, looked at the world completely differently to him.

 

“Do you think it’s still my birthday?” Tony mused, moving closer to Steve. He sat down and kicked his legs out in front of him, trying hard to hide the tension in his body.

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

“This was a very bad present.”

 

Steve looked at him, processing his words even though he knew it was a pointless exercise. What Tony says and what he thinks are two entirely different things.

 

“What are you looking for?” Tony asked when Steve didn't respond.

 

Steve dragged a thumb across the textured leather cover and slowly shook his head. He knew there were answers in this book, some Bucky wanted him to read and some he didn’t, but Steve wasn’t really sure where to start. And there were so many pages, each so paper thin that he thought they might rip under his fingers.

 

Amidst the black and white script, his eye was drawn to a page of color. A picture of a man with a halo of shimmering gold. It wasn’t Bucky, but it was clearly a depiction of a demon very much like him.

 

“Have you seen him?” Steve asked. “Bucky, I mean. Have you seen him since you’ve been in here?”

 

He didn’t know why he felt the need to ask, because he didn’t really want to know the answer. He couldn’t help but think that part of Tony’s hostility might be a result of something Bucky had told him. While Steve had technically been loyal to a fault, he had betrayed Tony in his mind more times that he could count since he’d met Bucky. And he had to wonder whether Tony knew that too.

 

“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure of his scintillating company,” Tony said in a sharp, clipped voice.

 

“He told me he wanted to speak to you,” Steve said slowly.

 

Tony looked at him, and Steve was relieved to see a hint of a smile. “Yeah, he spoke alright. That guy never shuts up.”

 

Reminded of their once easy friendship, Steve relaxed a little. “I’m surprised he could get a word in edgeways,” he said, letting his lips curl.

 

It might have been the light casting furious hues over his face, but Tony’s responding smile wasn’t reflected in his eyes.

 

“What, uh… what did he talk about?”

 

Tony narrowed his eyes slightly. It was the only sign of his discomfort. He’d obviously pinned on that fake smile as a mask for the foreseeable future, and the knot in Steve’s stomach pulled tighter.

 

“You sound a little nervous,” Tony observed lightly, before adding, “The guy wants you, that much is obvious.”

 

Steve could feel his body tense, and he hummed, deliberately non committal. “What makes you say that?”

 

“He told me he did.”

 

Steve cleared his throat, still staring down at the page, and noticed that he was subconsciously rubbing his finger over the golden halo. He stopped abruptly and could tell that Tony had clocked the movement.

 

“I don’t think he knows you feel the same way.”

 

 “What?” he said quickly, head snapping up and instinctively adding, “I don’t.”

 

The words fell out of his mouth so easily, but they didn’t settle with his conscience at all. After just a handful of hours, and most of them hell by Bucky’s own hand, he still wanted him. With everything he had.

 

He swore under his breath and even to his own ears, it was more telling than any affirmation or denial. He couldn’t look at Tony anymore. Couldn’t take the accusation or the ensuing stab of guilt.

 

“Did he... he didn’t hurt you did he?”

 

“No,” Tony grunted. “He’s a little shit though.”

 

Steve had to suppress a snort of laughter at the irony. Now wasn’t the time to point out their similarities.

 

“Did he make a pass at you?”

 

“No! No. I mean, not really.”

 

Tony’s eyes flicked to his, but instead of seeing the heat of jealousy or even anger, Steve saw acceptance. “You’re a dreadful liar.”

 

“Nothing happened,” Steve defended. “Can we not talk about this please?”

 

Tony’s eyes swept over Steve’s face. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he leaned back on his hands.

 

“Are Peggy and Sam okay?” Tony’s tone was lighter, and Steve was more than a little surprised that he was letting Steve change the subject.

 

“Yeah, they’re okay.”

 

He couldn’t erase the imprinted memory of Sam asking for Riley back. That broken look of loss was marked on his soul with indelible ink.

 

“Were you really there to help?”

 

Steve frowned. “Why else would I have been there? Why else would I be _here_?”

 

Tony sucked in a quick breath. “Because, I-” He snapped his mouth shut. Tony so rarely cut off his own speech, and this on top of his odd behavior had Steve’s skin crawling. “Because,” he sighed, “you’re part of this one.”

 

Steve looked at Tony with an amused smile already forming, but it instantly faded when Tony stared back at him, completely serious.

 

“What do you mean?” Steve asked hesitantly.

 

Tony flicked him a nervous sideways glance before looking straight ahead again. Then he dipped his hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular, pearlescent piece of card. He threw it into Steve’s lap, where it shone, pure white. It was one of the cards on which they’d drawn their nightmares in Steve’s apartment.

 

Apprehension settled on Steve’s skin like a weighted blanket. He cautiously turned the card over, and in his shock he forgot he was holding the book and it dropped from his other hand with a thud. His mouth was suddenly dry.

 

“ _I’m_ your nightmare?” His words were loud and the walls gleefully echoed them around.

 

“It’s not all about you, Steve.”

 

Steve stared at him and pointed to the card, which told a completely different story. “You drew me. You even wrote my name underneath it.”

 

“Yes, well…” Tony muttered, his body visibly tensing. “I also drew me. And look: that’s a speech bubble.”

 

“What?!”

 

It looked like Tony was trying to swallow around blades. “ _You’re_ not the nightmare. Talking is.”

 

Big brown eyes darted around the room to find exits that Tony knew didn’t exist. Round and round in circles the room went, holding them in the centre of a cruel circus. Giving up, he tipped his head into his hands and let out a humorless laugh.

 

“I thought about drawing my dad,” he muttered. If he was aiming for reassuring, it fell short, very short.

 

“That’s such a consolation,” Steve rasped sarcastically. Everyone knew about Tony’s abrasive relationship with his father.

 

“Well being polite about it won’t make this any easier.” Tony attempted a casual shrug, but it was tight and the movement sparked a tremor through his whole body.

 

“So, your fear is communication?” Steve repeated, confused.

 

“Are you fear shaming me?” Tony snorted flippantly, but Steve _knew_ Tony and he knew when he was hiding behind bravado.

 

“Tony,” Steve said, trying to layer band aids over a battle wound. “I’m not making light of it. Your fear is valid. That’s why it’s your fear. I just meant… I don’t know what I meant.”

 

Steve cringed. Tony didn’t need him, he needed Sam and his innate ability to know exactly the right thing to say at any given time. But Sam wasn’t there, and even if he was, would he be able to put aside his own pain given what he’d just gone through?

 

Steve ran his hand across his mouth and watched Tony studiously avoid his eyes. Steve’s throat felt like it was burnt raw with emotion. “I guess I was just wondering if you knew why? Because it might help. To get us out.”

 

“I don’t know, Steve, maybe because I’m not very good at it,” Tony sighed, and some of the bite seemed to fade into the air with it. “I can’t talk about the important stuff.”

 

It reminded Steve of something Tony had once said, all be it dismissive and tongue in cheek: _“If it can’t be solved with sarcasm or my father’s money, I’m not interested in dealing with it.”_ What he’d really meant, Steve realized now, it that he _couldn’t_ deal with it.

 

Steve was startled out of his thoughts by Tony jumping to his feet, cringing in embarrassment. By the very nature of his phobia, Tony doubted its legitimacy. He paced while he spoke like he might be able to out-run the fear, and his voice was uncharacteristically quiet. “I tried to draw a different nightmare. A giant spider, being buried alive, Lilo and Stitch.”

 

“Lilo and Stitch?”

 

“A little bit of focus please, Steve? The point is, I didn’t want everyone to know, but it was like I had no control over what I was drawing.”

 

Steve could see the nervous energy in the way he tapped his foot, the slight tremble of his shoulders and the wring of his hands. He looked down, finally finding the only surface that wouldn’t throw an image of Steve back in his face.

 

“The one fear I wanted to hide, and it practically drew itself.”

 

Steve nodded. “Okay. What do we need to talk about to complete your nightmare?”

 

Tony looked conflicted for a few long seconds as he gnawed at the inside of his lip. Then, very slowly, he lifted both index fingers and pointed first to himself, and then to Steve. Steve took a long breath in. It was the closest one of them had ever come to admitting there was a problem between them.

 

He couldn’t say that he hadn’t seen this coming since Tony told him he was part of the nightmare, or even from the moment he’d arrived and Tony had stared at him with fright and blame in his eyes. But if he was really honest, he’d seen it coming for the better part of a year. Months of tension, a key that no longer found a home in a lock, anger and arguments and the drifting apart of two lives that were never meant to encircle one another. Their relationship had been dry kindling for so long, that now there was nothing left to do but help it burn, and hope that their friendship could be built again from the ashes.

 

“Tony, I think… yeah, we definitely need to talk about this.”

 

Tony’s eyes darted up, but didn’t linger. “And here be dragons.”

 

Rubbing at his temples, Steve tried to push the ache away. On the face of it, you might think that this would be the easiest nightmare he’d faced so far. But it wasn’t. It absolutely wasn’t.

 

Tony’s mouth was pinched shut, and Steve pretended he didn’t see the way his body trembled.

 

He wanted to put a stop to this, to spare Tony and take the panic away. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to say, _‘We don’t have to do this,’_ and damn the consequences. But all he could offer was a weak, “Sorry, Tony.”

 

“Uh, yeah, tell you what,” Tony rattled in a rush of breath. “Why don’t you speak, I’ll agree without really listening and then we can leave.”

 

“I don’t think it works like that.”

 

“Yeah,” he agreed reluctantly. “If I do this, you think we’ll get to leave?”

 

Every part of Steve was crying out to say yes, in the most reassuring tone he could muster, but Steve was nothing if not honest. “Probably. Yes, I think so.”

 

Tony nodded, thrusting his hands into his pockets to hide the way they shook. Steve didn’t know how much time passed as he waited for Tony to speak again. The seconds grated against his skin and unspoken words sat like pins and needles on his tongue.

 

“I feel like I’m in an interrogation.”

 

Steve frowned. “I’m on your side. We’ll deal with this together.”

 

A few weighted minutes later, Tony sighed. “Did we always argue this much?” he asked in a soft voice that was abnormally fragile.

 

“Not always.”

 

The silence pressed in and Steve could see what it cost Tony to desperately hold up his walls. To stop them from crumbling, to prevent them from rusting away like iron shutters quickly corroding. And Steve knew that even though this was a conversation he himself had been avoiding for months, it was infinitely easier for him to lead it than for Tony. Here, at least, he could help. So he let the words slip out of his mouth.

 

“We didn’t argue like this before. Not when we were just friends.”

 

“Were we ever really friends?” Tony interjected in a hollow tone that failed to cover the insecurity that was plain on his face.

 

“Yes, we were friends,” Steve insisted. Tony turned to him with a dubious expression, but Steve shook his head, equally determined. “Good friends. Tony, you were the one that helped me when…” He felt his throat closing up, the sting of unshed tears prickling behind his eyes, “…when Mom died.”

 

There was trust, loyalty and solidarity, a friendship they could easily reclaim if they were brave enough.

 

“It was better back then,” Tony muttered, blinking rapidly. He tilted his face so he was almost looking at Steve. Almost. “Steve, I’m not in love with you.”

 

“I know.”

 

Tony shook his head. “Of course you do. You were just too polite to say anything.”

 

“It wasn’t that – I just thought you wanted to keep trying. To see if you could love me.”

 

“You only thought that because it’s what _you_ did. And that’s because you’re a decent human being, Steve. I, on the other hand, gave up months ago but didn’t want to tell you. I hoped you’d be the one to do it. You and your spine of steel,” he added mockingly.

 

He knew Tony was deliberately pushing him, even now he wanted to solve this problem the only way he knew how, but Steve’s temper flared all the same.

 

Tony glanced up long enough to see Steve’s expression and he quickly looked away in regret. He sucked his lips against his teeth, shook his head and groaned. “Look. This is really fucking hard, okay?”

 

Steve looked up at him, not trusting himself to speak until he regained his calm. He let out a long breath, watching the other pace the room. “I know. It’s not easy for me either. I need you to know that I tried, I really did. I wanted things to work between us.”

 

“And that’s the problem: _you_ tried, but _I_ didn’t.” Tony ground his knuckles into his thighs. “I’m selfish. The only reason I’m doing this now is because lives are at stake.”

 

“You’re contradicting yourself, Tony. Selfish people don’t do something they fear because lives – plural – are at stake. They do it for themselves.”

 

“If I was selfless I would have warned you off of me from the start. I would have read you the Tony Stark disclaimer.”

 

Steve smiled crookedly at a long ago memory. “You did,” he said. “You told me that you’d let me down. But you didn’t, Tony. We don’t make each other happy and it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just DNA. Or… like, two volatile compounds that aren’t meant to mix. But it’s not you. You deserve to be happy.”

 

Tony let out a disbelieving huff of laughter. “Quit while you’re ahead Steve.”

 

“No, I won’t. Sometimes people just aren’t meant for each other. It's no-one’s fault.”

 

“Well, it’s certainly not yours,” Tony sniped bitterly, fear making him harsh. “Not you. Not the faultless Steve Rogers.”

 

Steve felt the anger burn across his skin and loosen his tongue. “That’s not fair. I’ve never claimed to be perfect and nobody’s ever said that about me either.”

 

“My father thinks you're perfect,” Tony snapped quickly. His face was so intense it was as though the words had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for years. Maybe they had.

 

Tony sighed - a tired, sad sound - and almost choked on his next words. “God, he’s gonna hate me for this.”

 

“He loves you, Tony.”

 

The bark of bitter laughter smacked against the sides of the room, bouncing off infinitely curving walls - as solid and impenetrable as Tony’s own walls - and finding its way back. That sound was the only acknowledgement that Steve had spoken, because Tony looked off into the middle distance and carried on regardless.

 

“He’ll hate me. More than he already does. It’s exhausting living up to his disappointment in me. But you…” The grief and pain in his eyes hurt Steve in turn. “He loves you. You were the best thing about me.”

 

“Tony, stop!”

 

Steve’s voice had been raised and firm, but the way Tony’s whole body startled violently seemed disproportionate, and it made Steve’s chest tighten with empathy. He stepped forward, extending his hand and Tony flinched away.

 

“Please don’t touch me,” he muttered, pressing his hands to his face then pulling them away just as quickly.

 

Steve watched him dig his fingernails into his palms, and very slowly he eased his own hands in between, nails biting into the back of his hands instead. Tony instantly eased the pressure and looked at him in shock. Steve didn’t want to speak, he felt like the smallest sound might shatter the faith in Tony’s eyes.

 

Steve watched the rise of Tony’s chest as he drew in a steadying breath, watched him almost choke on it. He’d had no idea how badly their relationship had been eating at him. He thought he’d been doing the right thing by plugging away and trying to work through their problems. He thought he’d been protecting them both.

 

“I have to say this now or I won’t say it at all,” Tony said in a tight voice. It looked like he was trying to breathe through razor blades. “My dad isn’t the problem. I’m used to not being good enough for him.”

 

Steve went to correct him, but that would have meant interrupting and he caught the words just in time.

 

“The problem is that even though this has all gone to hell between us, I can’t… I can’t lose your friendship, Steve.”

 

“How can you think we wouldn’t be friends?”

 

Tony remained silent, but his eyes said so much. _How could I ever think we_ could _be? How would I earn it? How would I_ ever _deserve it?_

Steve knew that Tony wouldn’t give voice to any of that, but the questions deserved a response whether they were spoken or not.

 

“We’re all flawed,  Tony. That’s the point. You don’t love someone by ignoring their flaws, you love that person despite them. Because of them. You’re a good man.”

 

Then because Steve suspected that Tony was only opening his mouth to deliver another glib comment, he continued on. “And I don’t mean because you’re smart, or because you can charm a room full of people at a conference, or because people want to fall into bed with you. I mean, because you are a genuinely good person.”

 

Halfway through Steve’s monologue Tony had screwed his face up like it physically repulsed him to hear the words, but by the end he was sitting calmer, hearing Steve’s words even if he wasn’t believing them.

 

Steve wanted to reach out and touch him, but it could be as damaging as it could be healing, and he wasn’t prepared to risk Tony shutting down on him again. Tony clasped his hands over his nose, mouth and chin. His words were muffled, but audible.

 

“You talk bullshit, Rogers.”

 

“Like I said, I have faults. But lying isn’t one of them.”

 

When Tony looked up at him, meeting his eyes unafraid, Steve’s body finally eased, loosening the hold on the tension that had solidified in his bones and muscles since he’d arrived.

 

Tony held eye contact a few moments longer, and when he looked away it was because he wanted to, not because he had to. “I think I need to take up yoga. I’d be an excellent yoga instructor.”

 

“I think you need to consider getting out of Stark Industries,” Steve said seriously, his voice more confident. “Pepper always said she’d go with you if you left.”

 

“I don’t want her to be the next thing I screw up. She’s excellent at her job and she’s happy. I won’t ask her to leave.”

 

“She’s happy because she likes working with you.”

 

“Stop trying to set me up,” Tony said, a small teasing smile on his face. It was a bit vague and little less enthusiastic than his normal smirk, but it was something at least.

 

“Don’t friends do that sort of thing?”

 

Tony looked at him fondly before falling back on sarcasm. “Like I’d trust you. You have dreadful taste,” he sniggered. “I’m the exception, of course. But who can blame you? I _am_ irresistible on silk sheets.”

 

“It wasn’t like that-”

 

“Steve, please! My pride’s already bruised. Do you have to make this worse?”

 

“I meant that it wasn’t _just_ physical. I thought… I thought it could work.” Tony remained silent, so Steve added, “But it didn't. I don’t know why.”

 

Tony smiled, a little more of the tension leaving his body. “Say that again. Go on… _’I don’t know’_ … I really enjoyed that.”

 

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes indulgently. “So,” he sighed, looking at Tony expectantly.

 

A tiny smirk crept onto Tony’s face. “So…?”

 

“Care to weigh in anytime soon? I’m guessing you don’t actually want to be stuck here forever?”

 

“Not now there’s no chance of fucking, no.”

 

Steve narrowed his eyes, but he was trying very hard to hide the sheer joy at seeing a full smile on Tony’s face.

 

“Alright, fine. I should have tried harder; you should have given up earlier; we should have talked about it sooner. Does that cover everything?”  His tone was flippant, but Steve knew it was the only way he could say the words. “You’re still my friend though, right?”

 

“Yeah, I really am.” Then with a smile, “You can’t get rid of me completely. I’m stubborn like that.”

 

“So we’re done? I’m not saying anything else. Nothing about moving on and sparkly evil-doers. I’m possessive and it’s against my nature to make this easy for you.”

 

Steve chuckled through his surprise. “Yeah, alright. Fair enough”

 

Tony nodded, satisfied that the conversation was closed. “Alright.”

 

“Just to be clear-”

 

“Jesus Christ, Rogers! Yes you can go fuck him-”

 

Steve jumped. “Tony!”

 

“If that’s the kind of thing demons do,” Tony added thoughtfully. “Report back on that. Actually don’t. I don’t want to know. That would be weird and I’ll probably be jealous. You want your letterman jacket back?”

 

Steve’s fluttering heart started to settle back into a normal rhythm. “Even if I’d owned one, I wouldn’t have given it to you,” he snarked back.

 

Tony smirked. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were nice. Prudish,” he cut himself off with a snort like it was the funniest misjudgment he’d ever made and Steve rolled his eyes, “but at the very least I thought I was right with _‘nice’._ ”

 

“I can be nice,” Steve said, looking down at the book again.

 

“Can you?” Tony sniggered. “I don’t think the shadow kid is gonna know what hit him.”

 

“He’s not a kid,” Steve replied absently, something in the text catching his eye.

 

“Alright, demon. Whatever gets you hard, Steven.”

 

“No, I mean… just, look.”

 

He thrusts the book under Tony’s nose and points to the caption under the picture.

 

“ _‘They can live for…’_ Huh, who knew,” Tony mused. “ _‘Thousands of years’_. He’s vintage. You’d make a fortune at auction. Shame he’s such a brat.”

 

“He’s really not what you think. I don’t think he deserved to be a demon.”

 

“Then it doesn’t matter what I think because nobody will change your mind. You’re irritatingly stubborn.”

 

“Actually, it does matter what you think,” Steve said, maintaining eye contact.

 

“What I think?” Tony trailed off, but his eyes were soft and a little emotional. “Alright. What I think is that once upon a millennia Satan was one of God's leading angels.”

 

“This is not what I was expecting. In any way.”

 

Tony ignored him. “His name was Lucifer. It means _Light Bringer_. But my point is that God cast Lucifer from the mountain in disgrace.”

 

“What had he done?”

 

“Well that’s the million dollar question isn’t it? And maybe he didn’t do anything.”

 

Steve looked at him.

 

“So, Lucifer didn’t fall from that cloud - an accidental misstep, if you will - God gave him a helping hand. And maybe, he was pushed without any reason at all.”

 

Steve imagined a flaming descent through space, a blazing meteorite like lightening falling to the ground, and beyond.  

 

“I’m an atheist, you understand,” Tony continued. “I’m really just trying to make you feel better about your new demon boyfriend.”

 

“Yes, thank you, Tony. I appreciated the sentiment until you tried to get praise for it. I’m sure Bucky would appreciate it too.”

 

Tony scoffed. “Do we have to call him that?”

 

Steve shrugged. “It’s his name.”

 

“I’m not sure demons deserve names.”

 

“Even if they’ve been pushed out of heaven?”

 

“Don’t use my wisdom against me, Rogers.”

 

Tony’s voice was amused and the walls rebounded a relieved, open smile around the room. That’s when Steve noticed the change.

 

“There’s a door.”

 

“It’s been there a while,” Tony said casually. “It appeared after I poured my broken little heart out to you.”

 

His tone was breezy, but Steve’s heart squeezed a little anyway, there was a truth buried – not quite so buried anymore – underneath the bluster.

 

“I just wanted to make him wait, but I would’ve thought he’ll be suitably pissed by now. Shall we go?”

 

“If things were different you might actually like him.”

 

“What because we’re both assholes?” Tony grinned. “Well, thanks to him we may not live long enough to find out.”

 

The smile slowly slid from Steve’s face, and Tony laughed at his expression.

 

“God Steve, I’m just fucking with you. Look, I’ve spent more time with the guy than I would’ve liked – on my birthday no less. I don’t think he’s the real villain here.” Steve watched him walk out the door. “Doesn’t mean I like the guy though.”

 

“Tony,” he said quickly, unsure as to when they’d have time to talk alone again. “Will you let Sam help you?”

 

Tony avoided eye contact. “I’ll add it to my to-do list. After yoga instruction.”

 

It was the best Steve was going to get, so he let it slide and followed Tony through the door.

 

Coming from such gloom, the white light on the other side burned so bright it blinded. As his eyes recovered, he heard his name, and Tony’s, a chorus of greetings, and when he blinked back into focus, he could see Clint, Peggy and Sam in an ornate ballroom. He couldn’t help the smile of relief that slipped onto his face.

 

The light was coming from hanging chandeliers in the centre of the room, shining bright on the wooden floor. Sun beams streamed in from floor to ceiling windows and bounced off of the open lid of a black piano.

 

It was the piano from the parlor, at which Bucky was now sat, looking bored. He lounged on the bench backwards, leaning his elbows against the fall board in a button shirt and waistcoat. His skinny jean clad legs were sprawled enticingly.

 

His left forearm was bare where the shirt had been rolled up to just under the elbow, revealing a tattoo, an ivy vine that shone silver and moss green and hummes contentedly on his bare skin. The tattoo hadn't been there before, Steve would have noticed. But magic or not, Steve wanted to touch it. Wanted to touch Bucky.

 

Bucky’s watchful eyes were flicking between Steve and Tony and back again, and his expression was carefully neutral. While Steve had been gazing at Bucky for an immeasurably long time, Tony had been greeting their friends and was now staring at the full wall of mirrors opposite the windows.

 

“What is it with you and mirrors?” he sniped in Bucky’s direction.

 

Bucky’s lips curved into a devastating smirk. “Some people are happy with their reflections.”

 

Steve felt Tony bristle at the double edged insult. “People?”  he goaded with narrowed eyes. “You think you count as _‘people’_?”

 

Peggy looked very close to rolling her eyes and not caring who saw it.

 

“That’s enough,” Steve groaned. “I’m really tired. Can you two please just be quiet unless you have something nice or useful to say?”

 

Tony huffed next to him, but Steve was watching Bucky and suddenly questioning the wisdom of chastising a powerful demon who was clearly prone to temper. He was pretty sure Bucky wouldn’t hurt him, but he wasn’t prepared to test the theory.

 

Bucky purposely closed his mouth and pressed his lips together. Steve assumed he was trying to make the point that he had no intention of saying anything nice, or indeed, useful. If that was his aim, it went straight over Steve’s head, because instead of looking like he was forcing himself into silence, the gesture made him look like he was pouting for a kiss.

 

Steve stared, mesmerized, until Peggy pointedly cleared her throat. He looked away in embarrassment just in time to miss the grin of satisfaction on Bucky’s face.

 

Tony was looking around the room, taking in the gilded floral patterns on the ceiling and paneled far wall. “Bit grand for a paper house,” he observed.

 

“Why did you come here?” Steve asked Clint, quickly changing the subject before Bucky bit back. “Did something happen in the cave?”

 

“We were waiting for you, but then the ground started to shake again,” Clint replied as he stood up from where he’d been sitting in one of the window alcoves. He handed Steve a wine glass of water from a small table. Steve grabbed it less than graciously and drank it down in two huge gulps.

 

Accepting Steve’s thanks with a smile, Clint continued. “The whole cave was shaking.”

 

“The others,” Bucky explained, face blank again.

 

Steve’s mind whited out with panic. “They know you helped us?”

 

“We didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”

 

“Bucky did something, and here we are,” Clint said, then added in a grudgingly impressed tone, “Pretty awesome actually.”

 

Bucky’s face morphed into the visual representation of, _‘Yes, I am’_ , which Steve found inappropriately hot.

 

“Don’t ask him why he got us out, he won’t answer,” Clint advised under his breath.

 

Steve gazed back over to the piano to find Bucky watching them out of the corner of his eye, vibrant blue under too long black lashes that swept onto his cheeks when he blinked. His bowed lips parted slightly under Steve’s study, soft and yielding, but his jaw was sharp and strong. Sometimes Steve found him so pretty it hurt, and this was one of those times.

 

Looking for a distraction, Steve inspected the room for the tell tale sign of a shimmery golden shield. It wasn’t as easy to spot as it was on the astrology platform, but he could just about make out a gossamer sheen around the seams between walls and ceiling, and a thin gauzy veil in front of the windows.

 

Steve walked over to Sam who was crouched in a corner with Peggy sitting close by. She smiled at Steve sadly and remained silent, although her face said, _‘Be careful’._

 

Sam met his eyes and Steve was relieved to see that some of the expressionless daze had faded.

 

“Hey, Sam.”

 

“Hey, man,” Sam sighed and looked away. “Three down, huh?”

 

“Yeah. Home before you know it.”

 

Sam shifted as though Steve’s reassurances made him uncomfortable. As he moved, Steve noticed a flash like light glinting off metal, and he looked down to see Sam thumbing over twin dog tags. Both stamped with Riley’s name.

 

“James made them for me,” Sam explained quietly.

 

Steve suddenly felt hot, a torrent of fury swirling up inside of him and leaching out of his pores. In that instant, and with all the protectiveness of a loyal friend, all Steve could imagine was that Bucky was trying to cruelly torment.

 

“Bucky!” Steve shouted, turning. The room thrummed with a charged silence.

 

It was Sam’s voice, as clear and lucid as it had ever been, that stopped him getting up. “No, Steve, don’t!” he ordered.

 

Some of Steve’s anger made way for confusion as he looked back at his friend.

 

“They help. They really do,” Sam insisted, eyes pleading with Steve to listen, and Steve felt his face crumple. Sam’s words were choked with emotion, but he looked almost happy. “Don’t you dare take this away from me, Steve,” he added, face hardening. “He wanted to help – let him.”

 

Steve slowly looked around at Bucky, who was staring at his feet so Steve couldn’t see his face.

 

He slowly released the air in his lungs and his anger with it. “Alright Sam,” he said, placating. “I’m really glad they help.”

 

Clapping Sam on the shoulder he walked back over towards Clint, Tony and Bucky.

 

“Aww, James,” Tony mocked. “Have you been making friends?”

 

Tony’s  voice was just the right side of quiet enough so that Sam wouldn’t hear, and for that Steve was grateful, but for everything else, he was furious. He knew that one nightmare and one chat wouldn’t solve Tony’s problems, and that a couple of good deeds wouldn’t cast out Bucky’s darkness, but he’d  hoped that Tony would give Bucky a bit of a break considering the conversations they’d had only minutes before. 

 

But Tony had always found his footing in sarcasm and barbed wit, and Steve was too tired to play mediator anymore.

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes and looked Tony up and down in distaste. “How was couples therapy?”

 

Tony smirked and winked. “We hashed it out.”

 

His tone was deliberately suggestive and Steve turned to stare at him, incredulous.

 

Bucky’s eyes hardened and he fixed Tony with a flinty look.

 

“I mean, we didn’t talk much,” Tony added.

 

“Tony!” Steve admonished.

 

Bucky’s eyes blazed and a golden silhouette vibrated around his body.

 

Tony smacked his lips. “You’re not jealous are you, Twilight? Come on, like you weren’t watching.”

 

“I told you I wouldn’t,” Bucky hissed.

 

“Yeah, how gallant.”

 

Golden sparks were joined with red ones and the air snapped with Bucky’s anger. Steve could tell he was nearing the end of his patience and that any second Steve's friends would be vanished back into the game, leaving Bucky and Steve alone. But instead, Bucky grabbed a handful of Steve’s shirt and pulled him through the mirror.

 

Steve stumbled through it without resistance - like it was made of air – and found himself in the same ballroom but in reverse. He didn’t have too long to think about it because Bucky was pushing him back into the now solid mirror, his hand hot through Steve’s thin shirt, and Steve was consumed with a shivery lust.

 

“Really?” Bucky seethed. “ _That_ guy? I mean, really?!”

 

Steve hummed, and grinned in satisfaction. He couldn’t help it. The arousal he felt knowing that Bucky was jealous thrummed hot and hard through every nerve. _Bucky, a_  powerful, beautiful creature who could have anyone, take anyone, who could lure and seduce and never be bored or lonely again. And he wanted _Steve_.

 

Bucky frowned, caught off-guard by Steve’s smile. Suddenly uncertain, he licked his sinfully gorgeous lips nervously, brow creasing with an unspoken question that Steve had every intention of answering. And when Bucky bit his bottom lip, the last of Steve’s self restraint snapped.

 

Before Bucky could pull away, Steve quickly pressed forward and brushed their lips together. He'd intended the kiss to be soft and sweet, and that's how it started, but almost as soon as he felt Bucky's pliant lips under his, he couldn't stop it from spiralling into something hard, aching and desperate.

 

The demon gasped against Steve’s mouth and let out a surprised whimper before instantly melting into Steve's body, shivering into the wet slide of his lips.

 

The way Bucky's tongue teased across Steve's lower lip had him light headed and fevered, and before he could stop himself, he was turning them and rushing Bucky back against the glass, taking and giving, and feeling Bucky's energy flow like a circuit through both of their bodies.

 

Wave after wave of pleasure, sunshine and darkness, golden sparks and shadows ripping through every nerve. It was in his veins and he felt flooded with it, drunk on it. He wondered if Bucky could feel it too.

 

He wanted to ask, but he just couldn’t bring himself to pull away. His hips twitched with the effort it took to keep them from canting up and seeking friction against Bucky's body.

 

In the end, Bucky was the one that broke the kiss, their lips parting with a soft sound. Steve gripped him clumsily, breathless, and helplessly chasing Bucky’s lips for more. Bucky chuckled and remained close, letting their breath mingle. 

 

Steve’s gaze wandered up from kiss swollen, devil-red lips. Bucky looked starry eyed with awe, then a second later golden flecks started to appear in each iris, warming the icy blue like tiny fairly lights in a glacier lake.

 

Steve watched the bright gold sparks multiply and dance around Bucky’s form, flowing like the very atoms in the air were excited for him.

 

Letting out a little gasp of beautiful laughter, ardent and amazed, Bucky grinned. “Well, that answers that question."

 

“Which one?” Steve murmured through a smile, his voice rough with desire. “The one about me smiling smugly at you? Or the one where you wanted to know the upshot of Tony’s nightmare?”

 

“Both,” Bucky sighed through a ridiculously huge smile, brighter than anything Steve had ever seen, and more captivating by far.

 

Sliding his hand along the hard line of Bucky’s jaw, Steve drew him in for another kiss, softly parted lips meeting, brushing, anticipating more.

 

When they separated again, Bucky dragged his eyes up and down Steve’s form, lashes slowly feathering against his cheekbones then lifting again. He gently eased Steve back with two hands on the hard plane of his chest, creating space between them.

 

He tipped his head. “Come on,” he beckoned softly. “There’s something I need to show you.”

 

**Notes:**

 

      * **Chapter definition.** Strafe: Move sideways; often used as an evasive maneuver
      * The minor self harm refers to a part of the story when Tony digs his nails into his own hands (to help ground himself more than punish himself) and Steve intervenes by putting his own hands in the way
      * I only very briefly mentioned this in chapter 4, but some of the references in this chapter make a lot more sense knowing that Sam is training to be a therapist
      * [Bucky pic link](http://little-lottie.tumblr.com/post/151191455789): a picture of the lovely Sebastian Stan which inspired Bucky's outfit in this chapter
      * Feel free to come chat to me or ask me questions on [Tumbl](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/little-lottie)r. My inbox is always open




	9. Cut scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual content. If you want to avoid it, then it's about half way through the chapter.
> 
> The amazing @pencap over on tumblr has kindly agreed to let me link to her stunning poetry in this story. One of her poems in particular is just perfect for this fic and is absolutely gorgeous. I have quoted part of it at the beginning of this chapter and have quoted it in full in the end notes.

~

_if you remember nothing else, my child,_

_remember this:_

_the devil does not always come dressed in red._

_sometimes he comes with slicked hair and a charming smile_

_and sometimes he comes like a sniper shot in the night_

_silent and unexpected and deadly_

_and sometimes, child,_

_sometimes,_

_you love the devil_

_and the devil loves you back_

 

**[And that is when you are truly dammed, j.p](http://pencap.tumblr.com/post/150423336430/if-you-remember-nothing-else-my-child-remember) **

_~_

Bucky looked up at Steve with smoky eyes, lips curling into a smile that made promises, and beckoned him with one elegant finger.

 

Steve’s skin was still buzzing with little waves of pleasure, and it took every ounce of self-control to maintain even the smallest distance between them. Bucky’s touch, his kiss, had left him dizzy and greedy.

 

Dazed, Steve watched Bucky turn and walk straight through the mirror, realizing only when he had a face full of his own reflection that Bucky had hooked him by the belt loop and was tugging him along behind.

 

There was a momentary feeling of weightlessness then he was through to the other side, stumbling when gravity settled back over him, the turbulent feeling twisting his gut and kick starting his heart. Bucky gently pulled his finger where it was curled around the denim loop. It wasn’t enough to unbalance him, but it was enough to reassure him that Bucky was still there.

 

They weren’t back in the ballroom with the others, which to be fair, Steve should probably have predicted.  It was as though in its very foundations, the Shadow World itself had a consciousness that wanted to be as contrary as possible. As discordant and unpredictable as the shadow men themselves.

 

Since Steve had arrived, there wasn’t a single second when he’d felt as though he could confidently read the terrain, predict its moods or analyze its patterns. The most disarming thing was that he doubted he ever could, not in a thousand years. Maybe that’s what made a place a home, because Bucky moved in this world like he was part of it, flowed with its rhythm and shined in its cruel beauty. And yet at the same time, there was so much about him that just didn’t fit.

 

The thought made Steve's head hurt, and Bucky was watching on with fond amusement.

 

“You're thinking too hard.”

 

Steve scrunched his face up. “Do you even think at all?” he muttered, only half as annoyed as he should be.

 

Bucky smoothed a hand over his sheer black shirt. In the rain of sparks he’d seen as they'd re-emerged from the mirror he must have missed Bucky shifting into a different outfit, because he was wearing the translucent shirt from the games store and a pair of suggestively tight leather pants. The movement of Bucky’s hand trailing from clavicle to hip emphasized the hard lines of his chest underneath.

 

“Bucky,” Steve breathed, hating himself for not being able to look away. “Stop it.”

 

Like a carefully edited cut to another scene, Bucky was suddenly coy instead of seductive, body morphing so quickly into shyness that Steve just looked at him, blinking.

 

Without the heat in Bucky's eyes, Steve's brain recentered and with a drop like lead in his stomach, he thought of his friends. He felt like he'd traded one guilt for another. His attraction to Bucky was no longer a betrayal  of Tony, but if his friends were in danger he needed to go to them.

 

Bucky's eyes ticked over his features. "If you’re worried about them, don’t be,” he said softly. “Hunter’s with them."

 

"They're safe?"

 

Bucky nodded.

 

"And the other shadow men?"

 

"It's my game, they can't touch your friends."

 

Some of the simmering guilt disappeared with a wave of immediate relief, making it easier to look away from the gorgeous demon in front of him and take in their surroundings for the first time.

 

The step through the mirror had taken them straight to the astrology platform. It looked largely the same but the bubble of Bucky’s magic was thicker now, a veil dense enough that Steve could only just make out the jet black and luminous color of the galaxy around them, making it feel more like a room than a drop off point to space.

 

The domed air around them glowed gold in the shadow of magic, and there was a log fire burning away within a large metal fire pit, a shining bowl that bounced flickering licks of orange, yellow and red over the glass floor. It was warm, cozy and smelt of spices, a heady scent of cinnamon and vanilla.

 

Steve shrugged off the satchel from his shoulder, taking his time to put it down while he tempered his emotions. When he looked up, Bucky’s eyes were glistening in the firelight.

 

“Hunter will let us know if there’s anything to worry about. They’re just waiting for the next nightmare.”

 

“Whose?”

 

Bucky grinned but shook his head. “Nice try.”

 

Steve couldn’t help the affectionate smile that painted his lips. Yes, Bucky could be fickle and disagreeable, but here and alone with Steve, he let some of his shadows drop, and Steve was quickly learning to admire the colors underneath.

 

“Bucky, I’m sorry,” he said, taking a small step towards him. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you. Over Sam. You know… the dog tags.”

 

Bucky dropped his eyes down to the glass at his feet, pitched black like granite. It offered only the smallest of barriers between them and infinity.

 

When Bucky spoke, his expression was one of deep regret. “I just thought-” he started, before breaking off almost straight away. He glanced up quickly, then as though reassured by Steve’s expression, carried on. “I thought they would help. Sam needed something. He was a mess.”

 

Bucky inhaled abruptly, like he was steeling himself for the words he knew he’d have to force through his lips. “It’s just a small thing, but I couldn’t take away the nightmare, and I’m…  ** _Sorry."  
_**

The last word dropped into Steve’s head as though Bucky didn’t trust himself to say it aloud.

 

All of a sudden, Bucky looked horrified. “Shit, I didn’t mean to do that, you told me not to.”

 

“It’s alright Bucky,” Steve said through a startled laugh. He bit back the urge to reassure him more. If he did, he might let slip how much he secretly adored the sound of Bucky’s voice in his mind, how it flowed like silk and warm honey, and just for Steve to hear.

 

Deliberately deflecting, Steve said instead, “Can you hear my voice in your head?”

 

Bucky’s relieved smile shone bright, then he shook his head. “No.”

 

Steve felt the hollow thrum of disappointment. Vaguely hoping Bucky was wrong, he tried to think as loudly as he could.

 

After a second or two Bucky burst out into surprised laughter. “Are you trying to think words into my head? You look ridiculous.”

 

Steve felt his cheeks heat and he narrowed his eyes, indignant. “Well I hate to tell you, but this is just my face. So if you went to the trouble of abducting me, then trying to kill me, then saving me, for something more than ‘ridiculous’ then you’re going to be real disappointed.”

 

Bucky stood there frozen with his eyebrows raised, then he chuckled full and happy. ** _"You could never disappoint me, Steve."_**

Steve was grateful when Bucky turned around because he couldn’t help the obvious shiver that ran through his body at the low, sweet voice rippling inside of him.

 

He watched the way Bucky’s body relaxed, how he moved to stoke the fire like his footsteps were lighter. When he turned, Steve could see the delight on his face, and he couldn’t help but think that Bucky may be adorable when he was testy, stunning when he was fierce, but he was simply breathtaking when he was happy.

 

“How old are you?” Steve asked curiously. “You said you’d been watching earth for years.”

 

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly. “Did I? I meant centuries.”

 

Steve was completely unsurprised. “Right.”

 

The flames jumped and grew with the rush of oxygen and, seemingly satisfied, Bucky abandoned the poker and headed towards a soft mountain of blankets which almost completely covered a wooden framed chaise lounge.

 

Bucky knelt down, opening a heavy looking drawer and pulling out a rectangular object covered in blood red silk. He considered it for a few long moments as though it was a threat to be mitigated, then slowly extended his arm to pass it to Steve.

 

“Should’ve played strip Twister, Steve,” he said very quietly as Steve peeled the material away.

 

The silk slipped and floated to the glass, revealing a painting: Steve’s painting of Brooklyn.

 

He gasped, gripping the canvas too tight. “It was in the games store. I didn’t imagine it.” He flicked his eyes up to glance at Bucky whose gaze was level but cautious. “Jesus Bucky, it was there then it disappeared. That really freaked me out.”

 

“Yes,” Bucky said in a low voice. “And you still didn’t leave.  You knew something was wrong. Why didn’t you leave?”

 

Steve met Bucky’s eyes. “I got distracted.”

 

Bucky paused with his mouth open ready to say something then snapped it shut again. He exhaled sharply. “You should have left and never looked back.”

 

Maybe he should have done, or maybe he was meant to stay. It was all academic now anyway, and Steve wasn’t one for looking back.

 

“Did you want me to leave?”

 

“Yes. No.” Bucky frowned in irritation. “I don’t know. It’s hard to think with you around.”

 

Steve looked back down at the painting, re-familiarizing himself with the brush strokes and angles. “How did you get this? My mom put it in storage.”

 

After a few seconds passed without a response, Steve looked up. He could tell by Bucky’s face that he was choosing his words carefully. “No,” he said simply. “She didn’t.”

 

There was something about the way he said the words that made Steve think there was more to it than he was letting on.

 

“How long have you had this?”

 

Bucky looked decidedly sheepish.

 

“Bucky, come on. Why show me this if there isn’t a story to go with it. Tell me.”

 

“There’s no story. I just thought you should have it back.”

 

Steve gave Bucky a withering look. He may not have known him for very long, but he could tell a bare faced lie when he heard it.

 

Bucky smiled, seemingly unperturbed. “What do you want to hear?”

 

“The truth,” Steve answered without the need to pause for thought. If nothing else, he will always want to truth, in this world even more so than his own.

 

“Who’s truth?” Bucky responded with an intense glint in his eye. “My truth? Yours? Peggy’s, Sam’s?”

 

His voice was passionate, flowing in that beautiful lilting cadence that Steve was starting to miss when he wasn’t around.

 

“Or do you want an objective truth? One without judgment or bias, without rose tinted lenses or green eyed envy? A God’s truth?” He shook his head, eyes shining and his beautiful face creasing with an odd sympathy. “You want a truth that doesn’t exist, Steve.”

 

Steve was floored. Layered under the liquid sex of Bucky’s voice was the terrifying realization that Bucky might actually be right. Steve put such stock in honesty that he’d never thought about the uncertainty of subjectivity.

 

“Right now,” he breathed, falling back on gut instinct, “all I want is _your_ truth. How did you get my painting? It’s a simple question, Bucky. Why can’t you just answer it?”

 

Steve’s skin prickled with impatience as he waited, watching Bucky with the heat of irritation, but knowing that Bucky will see the plea underneath. When Bucky turned his head away, Steve huffed a disappointed sigh.

 

“Not all shadows come from dark places,” Bucky said quietly. "Love is the real shadow."

 

“What?”

 

“Love,” Bucky repeated, turning fathomless blue eyes on him. “That’s the real burden. Not sin. It breaks you apart, wrecks you. It makes you take lives and pull them apart. Like butchering hearts, only more brutal.”

 

Bucky’s voice was steady, factual but lamenting, and all Steve could do was stare at him, soak in his voice and trust his words, because Steve knew that at the very least, Bucky believed in what he was saying. This was exactly what Steve had asked for: Bucky’s truth.

 

“There’s no shame or heartache in being a demon... until you know better. You watch different universes, different dimensions for long enough and you find out that there is something better… something _good…_ and that in other places you could be good too.”

 

Bucky's face darkened into something fierce. He sank down to the floor, leaning against the wooden frame of the bed, graceful but with a cloud of misery hovering around him. Steve followed him a beat later and very tentatively reached out to touch Bucky’s pale hand. A thrill of energy danced between their fingertips.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Humans become de-humanized. Demonized, even. I guess it works both ways. I became humanized.”

 

“Does it happen a lot?”

 

Bucky smiled. It was small and gentle but there was a quality about it that made Steve think he’d missed a joke. “That a demon grows a conscience? No, Steve, it doesn’t happen very often.”

 

Steve’s lips quirked in an oddly proud smile. “You’re special, then.”

 

“No,” Bucky said in a somewhat patient tone. He looked down to watch the way he was twining their fingers together. “You are.”

 

“Sorry, I-I don’t…” Steve cut himself off, overcome with impatience. “You seem to think I’m a lot smarter than I actually am. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“I was already changing. For the better, I mean. Then I saw you.”

 

Steve’s brain raced with the implications of Bucky’s statement. “When you said in the parlor that we'd met…?”

 

“I might’ve exaggerated,” Bucky finished with a crooked smile. “I watched you. From the shadows.”

 

Steve startled. “Bucky! You do realize how fucking creepy that is don’t you?”

 

The melancholy of just seconds before vanished in the wake of a wicked smile. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

 

“How long have you been watching me?”

 

“Oh, for years,” Bucky answered brightly. “A decade maybe.”

 

“What?!”

 

“Really, Steve. Don’t act so scandalized.”

 

“I can act how I want because I don’t do creepy things like stalk people for years.”

 

“I didn’t watch you _constantly_!” Bucky choked out through a trickle of laughter. “I do have other things to do than just stare at you adoringly day and night.”

 

“Day and NIGHT?!”

 

“Relax,” Bucky purred in a low voice.

 

Steve pressed his lips together to hide a smile; he didn’t want Bucky to know that he was nowhere near as spun out as he probably should be.

 

Being told to relax would normally have Steve’s hackles rising, but he was starting to get used to the foreign responses Bucky seemed to elicit in him.

 

"I never saw you. I never even felt like I was being watched.”

 

“Yes, well, I’m very good at being a demon,” Bucky responded, voice turning dark. “The others found out that I watched you. They thought I was infatuated with you, which in itself didn’t bother them, but it’s not normal to get attached to a human. Brock knew-”

 

“Who’s Brock?”

 

“It doesn’t matter. If you saw something special in your world, something beautiful, you’d watch it flourish in the light. Not here. Here it’s cast into shadow. You take what you want or you play with it. They knew I wanted you, so that was my choice - take you or invite you to play. They wanted to drive out the weakness in me.”

 

“It’s not weakness, Bucky. This world is harsh and cruel, and you don’t deserve to be here. You’ve had to be brave to stay kind, and I-"

 

“I’m not kind, Steve.”

 

Steve felt himself metaphorically dig his heels in. The more Bucky fought him on this, the more Steve believed he was right.  At first glance, Bucky was like a far off moon: distant, cold and hostile, when in reality he was actually like the sun: kinetic, life giving, and unimaginably hot.

 

“You could have just taken me, but you gave me a chance.”

 

Bucky shook his head. “Not much of one.”

 

They both sat in silence against a soundtrack of crackles and pops from the flames. Steve gazed at Bucky openly as he got up to stoke the fire again, this time abandoning all pretense of needing the poker and flicking his fingers over it to make it roar higher. The light from it cast a stunningly soft glow over Bucky’s face.

 

“Are all shadow men beautiful?”

 

Bucky looked up quickly, shyly. “I don’t know. Some are. We’re all made in the image of humans. We’re all different.”

 

“But you can change appearance using magic. Is this how you really look?”

 

Bucky looked down at himself, expression a mix of amusement and self consciousness. “Umm... yes?”

 

“I mean, your clothes are different every time I see you. I just wondered whether everything else, like..” Steve didn’t have the words, and instead found himself getting up to brush the back of his hand over the curve of Bucky’s cheekbone.

 

“Those are mine,” Bucky said in a teasing voice. Steve smiled and trailed his fingers down along his jaw. “And that. Yep, those too,” he added when Steve dragged his thumb across his lips. “All me. Except, I’m actually blonde.”

 

Steve squinted at him. “Really?”

 

“No,” he sniggered. “But changing clothes is easy. No magic can change what you really are.”

 

Steve heard the warning, but Bucky’s eyes had turned sultry, and too alluring not to be distracting.

 

“You think you can change me. It’s the chink in your armor.”

 

Steve blinked in confusion, once again struggling to keep up with Bucky’s erratic segues. “What is?”

 

“Your hero complex,” Bucky stated simply. “And somewhere along the way it’s chipped away at my armor too. Your strength of heart will ruin me.”

 

Bucky’s voice was tender in the same way that it had been before, here on this platform. Steve was desperate to hold him, knowing that he could now, but still so unsure. It didn’t matter because Bucky was bridging the gap with eyes that were sharp with lust.

 

“It will ruin me, but I don’t care,” he all but whispered, leaning close. “Are you going to kiss me? Or do I have to kiss you?”

 

“Bucky, please. I need you to focus, you need to help me.”

 

Bucky looked up at him, a visceral hunger in his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I can’t help you. Please don’t make me wait, Steve.” Full lips parted invitingly around the words as he murmured, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

 

Helplessly Steve reached out to curl his fingers into impossibly soft, dark chestnut hair, gripping tight and tugging Bucky’s head back to tease out a delighted gasp that made Steve shiver.

 

Steve could feel the tightness in his own jeans, his cock hardening against the seam, and all he could do was watch with a hopeless, desperate want as Bucky's lips lifted into a provocative smile.

 

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

 

“No,” Steve said sternly, sexual frustration manifesting as irritation. “I need to talk to you. Just pay attention.”

 

Steve stumbled as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He hadn’t intended to be so harsh, so domineering, and he hadn’t stopped to think whether the words might incite Bucky into a rage that would leave Steve three steps back and another hour away from watching Bucky whine and fall apart underneath him. 

 

Cautiously his eyes skittered across Bucky’s face, but whatever reaction he thought he might get, this had been the furthest from his mind, because Bucky's whole body was shivering with an involuntary tremble of lust at Steve's words, and a soft whimper sent warm breath tickling against Steve’s lips.

 

“People don’t say no to you that often, do they?”

 

When Bucky opened his eyes to half mast they were hazy. “They don’t usually want to,” he purred.

 

If Steve weren’t lost already, that sweet, low voice would have done it. His burning need for information all of sixty seconds ago was forgotten in the all-consuming desire to have and to take and to feel Bucky’s kiss again.

 

Without thought, he grasped the back of Bucky’s neck and dragged him the last couple of inches to bring their mouths together. It wasn’t right and he shouldn’t be doing it, but he wanted it, like he’d never known want before.

 

Bucky sighed victoriously against his mouth and the touch of his soft lips sent shivers across Steve's skin, electric pulses and arcs of light through every nerve. He could almost feel specks of gold coursing through his bloodstream, pushing out the horror of a cruel world and the crushing burden of the lives he felt responsible for. His only focus in that moment was the man in his arms; the beautiful demon who was opening his lips to slide their tongues together.

 

With in-human strength, Bucky jerked him closer to press their hips flush and he moaned when he felt Bucky hard against his hip.

 

Steve's voice was graveled with desire when he spoke. “You watched me from the shadows, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, smirking mischievously. “Plenty of shadows in your bedroom.”

 

Steve’s hips flexed at the mere thought. “You didn’t.”

 

“Didn’t I?”

 

“Oh, _fuck.”_

 

Bucky’s smile widened and he slowly licked his lips. Steve half-caught a whimper as it escaped his mouth, but he didn’t wait for Bucky to tease him, he just pulled him back in and crashed their lips together.

 

Bucky was such a flirt, and he was flirting now with lips and tongue and teeth as he licked a path up Steve’s neck and playfully nipped his jaw line. Leaning back and peering up at Steve's face, his lips were red as sin, bite swollen and irresistible, and Steve had pulled him down onto the blankets before he even realized he wanted to do it.

 

As instinctive as breathing, he pressed nearer, harder, wanting to feel that thrum across his skin, everywhere. He felt Bucky melt into him, rocking their bodies together in a slow, sinful slide.

 

“Bucky,” he gasped, slamming his eyes shut and letting a low moan slip from his lips.

 

He heard Bucky’s breathy chuckle, felt him purposely lift his hips to grind up in a tight circle against Steve’s jeans and the achingly hard cock underneath.

 

Bucky gasped, sharp and loud, skittering sparks of magic forming and flying out across the glass. Through the thick haze of lust, Steve grinned and drew away slightly. He watched Bucky’s hips stutter up to meet Steve’s body on its retreat and waited for the needy, disappointed moan when all the friction he could find was thin air.

 

Steve wanted more. More of everything. More of Bucky, completely naked, pale skin at Steve’s fingertips. And he wanted more time, needed it for all the ways he wanted to show Bucky that he deserved to be held and cherished. But he knew he could come from this and in no time at all, just the press of bodies, hard and fast and new. The flow of energy between them hummed down his spine and magnified with every minute their skin was connected.

 

He dragged his hand against the silky smooth skin of Bucky’s abdomen then palmed down over the hardening bulge in his pants. Listening to the way the demon's breathing stalled and skipped, he slipped his hand under butter soft leather, fingertips tracing the underside of Bucky’s cock. He had to bite down hard on his lip just to keep from coming at the sight of the demon arching up and writhing underneath him.

 

“Do you, umm... have you ever...?”

 

Bucky regarded him with pursed lips like he was trying to contain a grin. “Centuries, Stevie," he said with a pointed look. "I am ten times older than you, and in case you hadn’t noticed, not a lot of praying goes on around here.”

As if to punctuate the statement, he grabbed two handfuls of Steve’s ass and pressed down to make them both moan at the perfect pressure.

 

Steve fumbled at Bucky’s waistband, shuffled the pants down over his hips and wrapped his hand around Bucky’s cock without hesitation. Bucky whimpered, eyelids fluttering closed as his hips snapped up into Steve’s hand.

 

Then Bucky's hands were everywhere, dragging over material and flesh, curling round the curve of Steve’s neck, smoothing down his arms, skating across the bare skin of his abdomen where his t-shirt had ridden up, and in the wake of his touch there were patches of shimmering gold on Steve’s skin; honeyed bruises and star dust, blossoming up then slowly fading.

 

Disconnected thoughts spilt from Bucky’s lips, a dissonant string of murmurs, whimpers and cut off sounds that might have been words if he wasn’t coming undone. And Steve soaked them all up and committed them to memory.

 

“Steve, Steve...” he muttered until his voice cracked and Steve heard the words pleading directly into his mind instead.  ** _"Steve, please."_**

 

Bucky’s hand slipped between their fevered bodies, flicking the button of Steve’s jeans and pulling down the zipper. Steve's hand faltered in its smooth slide down Bucky’s shaft as the demon's cool fingers curled around his dick, pulling him out of the confines of his boxers and adjusting his grip to wrap his hand around both of them, skin on skin.

 

Cracks of static snapped in the air around them as Bucky roughly kissed away Steve’s muffled cry. The kiss was barely a kiss at all and Steve let it spiral into desperation until they were simply gasping and sharing breaths between them as he lost himself in the rhythm of Bucky’s hand and his own hips.

 

Bucky’s pupils were so blown that there was only a thin blue halo around them as he gasped and panted and sighed, all of it as beautiful as Bucky himself. 

 

Steve felt sparks popping by Bucky’s fingers, heard wood splintering under the demon's hands, and he looked up just quickly enough to see Bucky’s eyes suddenly flooded with magic that turned them the color of sun-kissed caramel. Steve was giddy just watching him; the sight of him _that_ wrecked, so undone that he had no control of his power, flooded his senses with hot pleasure.

 

Steve wrapped his hand around Bucky's, quickening his pace, and moaned his name. With a sharp gasp and a full body shiver, Bucky came, spilling hot between their bodies, and the electricity of Bucky’s magic in that moment was like an awakening.

 

Steve had never felt anything like it. Like power. Power that could change the world or save it. He could feel _everything:_ thecold glass under his sweat slick palms, the soft fur of the blanket brushing his bare hip, the way Bucky vibrated with aftershocks against him, the burn of magic across his skin, and he came with a silent cry.

 

The energy that ripped through him left him dizzy and shivering, but Bucky held him as his brain restarted. Delicate fingers idly traced patterns on any visible skin he could find. Steve would be inclined to say the patterns were random, but knowing Bucky, and starting to familiarize himself with magic, he couldn’t be sure.

 

Blinking heavily, Steve felt his sated muscles loosen and he released his bruising grip on Bucky’s arm and shoulder. He melted into the heat of Bucky’s body while the demon hummed, silky and satisfied, into Steve’s mind.

Stifling an amazed laugh, Steve bit his lip on the smirk that was creeping onto his lips. Instead he dipped his head, catching his breath against the firm muscle of Bucky’s chest, where he could feel Bucky’s heartbeat, reassuring and familiar in the face of all of their differences.

 

When Bucky’s fingers traced over the curve of Steve's waist, bumping across the new scar on his flank, Bucky's body went taut.

 

“It’s alright, Bucky,” Steve muttered.

 

The tension in Bucky’s muscles eased slightly, but not completely.

 

Steve shifted to lie on his side so they could face each other. Bucky's eyes were wide as he stroked Steve's cheekbone with the kind of cautious awe you feel when you're near something precious but you fully expect it to break under your touch.

 

“Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Since when did you need permission?” Bucky said with an exaggerated groan. “Go on.”

 

“How did you get the painting?”

 

Bucky smiled softly, lips beautifully kiss swollen. “Let me keep some of my secrets, Steve.”

 

After a beat and when Steve was sure Bucky wouldn’t relent, he said, “If the other shadow men find out you helped us, can we still win?”

 

Bucky looked at him like he was being unbelievably stupid.

 

“Well, what’s the worst they can think to do to us?”

 

“I’m not sure they _think_ at all. It’s what makes them so dangerous.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Bucky gently ran his fingers over the back of Steve’s hand before coaxing the digits into a fist.

 

“Some of the most potent magic comes from here,” he said, fisting his own hand for emphasis. “From rage. Unreasoning, unthinking rage.”

 

“There has to be something else,” Steve said thoughtfully.

 

Bucky’s face lit up with a smile. “You would say that,” he breathed with a happy chuckle.

 

“Yeah, I would.” And he didn’t once consider taking it back.

 

“Well,” Bucky said with an indulgent smile, gently slipping his hand underneath Steve’s t-shirt and palming up his chest to trace the ridges of muscle. “The strongest magic comes from here.” He stroked his hand back down the centre of Steve’s torso and rested it on his abdomen. “The core of you.”

 

“Thought you were gonna say the heart.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes affectionately. “Sap. But, in a way it is the heart, because it’s your everything, your very being.”

 

He flexed his fingers then spread them out against Steve’s belly. The touch felt like warmth, joy and sex.

 

“So we have a chance?”

 

Bucky huffed, a mixture of amusement and misery. “Maybe. But the best case scenario is that they don’t find out that I cheated the game. Then they’ll let it play on, and you and your friends have a chance to leave.”

 

Steve. And his friends. But not Bucky.

 

“But... what will they do to you?”

 

“Nothing that matters to me”

 

“And to me? Will it matter to me?”

 

“I don’t know, Steve. Will it?” Bucky asked in a tone edged with steel. “Will it really matter what happens to a _demon_? One you don’t really know; one who trapped you here against you will; who willingly played with the lives of your friends? And even if they survive, how easy do you think it will be for them to carry on living after this? Tell me: will what happens to me really matter to you?”  

 

There was a long weighted silence in which Steve wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say until the answer slipped out of his mouth. “Yes.”

 

Bucky dropped his head into Steve’s neck, nuzzling in and breathing deep as though he was taking cover.

 

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

 

“You’re dreadful at pillow talk.”

 

Steve gently cajoled Bucky into re-emerging from his hiding place so that he could retain eye contact. “I’m serious, Buck,” he said, resolute.

 

“You want me to tell you how to defeat them, but I don’t know. I can tell you pretty lies and clever fables about good conquering evil, but you said you wanted the truth and the only truth I know is that they’re indestructible. Immortal.”

 

“Immortal-ish?”

 

Bucky groaned. “Steve,” he said in a low, warning tone, his lips quivering very slightly. “Beat the game and get out. You’re already doing better than most. Just survive the nightmares and go home. Don’t do anything stupid. Please. I stopped watching you when they found out to try and keep you out of danger. I’m keeping the portal open to help you get out, for once just… don’t pick a fight, okay?”

 

He sighed and his body sagged as though he couldn’t hide how the years of merely existing had jaded him. “You can’t beat them with brawn and righteous indignation.”

 

“You stopped watching me?”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he was clearly unsurprised that Steve had ignored all of his warnings. “I thought it would divert the others. Besides, you didn’t need me looking out for you.”

 

Steve’s mind stuck momentarily on the strangely comforting thought of Bucky looking out for him from the shadows, and he indulged the urgent need to press a kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

 

“I missed you so much when I stopped visiting. But you had angels lifting you up.” Bucky made a gesture with his hands like a set of weighing scales, favoring one side then the other. “And I had shadows pulling me down.”

 

Steve frowned, a ridiculously sappy thought flitting through his mind. _Maybe together we can stay on solid ground._ He’d never give voice to it, partly because it was the single most sentimental thing he’d ever thought, but largely because he actually meant it. _Together._

 

Bucky huffed a laugh like he was responding to something someone had said. “Yeah, maybe,” he said, addressing Steve. “Depends how solid the ground is.”

 

Steve stared at him, wide-eyed with shock, heart hammering against his rib cage. There was no way he’d said that out loud; he knew he hadn’t.

 

But Bucky was frowning, and then blinking rapidly. “Did you just…?”

**" _Shit, what the fuck is going on?_ "**

****

**" _Steve, it’s alright. Don’t panic._ "**

 

“Shit,” Steve muttered, scrambling back from him.

 

“You said you couldn’t hear me!” he accused.

 

He had no idea why it scared him so much, especially given all of the darkness, magic and spectacle that he’d seen since he got here. It could simply have been that he’d resigned himself to the knowledge that everything else was undoubtedly beyond his control, but his own voice at the very least seemed like something he should be in control of. And yet…

 

"You definitely said you couldn't hear me!"

 

“I couldn’t! I couldn’t before…”

 

“Before what? Before…” Steve's eyes rounded. “Oh.”

 

Feeling suddenly naked and vulnerable, he rushed to fasten his jeans, heat scorching his face.

 

 

“And don’t ask me," Bucky said, "because I have no idea.”

 

Just as Steve opened his mouth on a new question, Bucky’s eyes widened and he leapt to his feet, hands spread like he was feeling the air.

 

“You have to go,” he said abruptly.

 

He flicked his hand to vanish away the mess on Steve’s jeans and t shirt, just as a shriek split the air and a blur of feathers and claws swooped through the veil, sending gold dust flying.

 

Hunter landed at the foot of the sofa next to Steve, yellow eyes fixed on him.

 

Steve glared at Bucky, overwhelmed at the new found ability to speak into Bucky’s mind and hollow at the thought of having to start a new nightmare. He realized a split second too late that he was channelling his anger and fear directly at Bucky.

 

“Can you help with this one?” he snapped. “Or do you have a stake in this one too?”

 

Bucky’s face fell. Steve felt his pain just as vividly as he’d felt the bullets ripping into his own flesh.

 

“Shit, no – no, don’t look like that. I didn’t mean…I know that you didn’t play a part in Tony’s nightmare, okay?”

 

Bucky drew in a deep breath, eyes assessing.

 

“Head down, not up,” he instructed, and then after a moment of thought, added, “I didn’t go after her. She brought this on herself.”

 

“What? Bucky?!”

 

But Bucky was gone, and when the resulting shiver of gold cleared, there was a ghost town in his place.

 

Sitting in the middle of an abandoned street, surrounded by night but illuminated by a single stuttering streetlamp, was the figure of a girl. She was curled up, long hair partially covering her face. It was too long to be Natasha’s.

 

The step that Steve tentatively took towards her kicked up gravel from the filthy asphalt. Stones skimmed across the road, beating a tapping rhythm into the silence.

 

When the girl looked up, Steve’s breath caught.

 

“Wanda?”

 

**Notes:**

**Chapter definition. Cutscene:** a sequence in a video game that breaks up the gameplay. Such scenes could be used to show conversations between characters, bring exposition to the player, set the mood, reward the player, introduce new gameplay elements, show the effects of a player's actions, create emotional connections, improve pacing or foreshadow future events.

  * As always, I'd absolutely love to know what you think! Comments and kudos are life. Please also feel free to come say hi on [Tumblr](http://little-lottie.tumblr.com/)
  * There is a line in here that’s a much poorer version of the following: “Softness is not weakness. It takes courage to stay delicate in a world this cruel.” Beau Taplin, Shed Your Sharp Edges



 

**Full poem:**

 

if you remember nothing else, my child,

remember this:

 

the devil does not always wear horns.

sometimes he wears the kind of face that belongs in storybooks

and sometimes he wears angel wings and a halo like a costume

    waiting for the right moment to tear them off

 

the devil does not always come dressed in red.

sometimes he comes with slicked hair and a charming smile

and sometimes he comes like a sniper shot in the night

     silent and unexpected and deadly

 

the devil does not always have bloody hands.

sometimes he has pretty fingers you’d love to watch playing a piano

and sometimes he has calloused palms and strong fingers

     just big enough to wrap snug around your hands

 

the devil will not always drag you straight to Hell.

sometimes he’ll bring you roses laced with poison

and sometimes he’ll promise you a dance for the stars to watch

     and then disappear like the wisp of a daydream

 

and sometimes, child,

sometimes,

you love the devil

     and the devil loves you back

 

**And that is when you are truly dammed, j.p**

 


	10. Expansion

 

**~**

_'There were so many ifs in life, never any certainty of anything, never any sense of security, always the dread of losing everything…'_

\- Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind.

~

“Steve... thank God.” Wanda scrambled to her feet, knees scraping on the jagged stones.

 

As Steve crossed the distance to meet her, he could see how the light from the streetlamp glinted in her frightened brown eyes. The sweep of relief that flashed across her face wasn’t enough to hide her frailty, the way she shook as fine rain collected in her hair and shone on her ashen skin.

 

Steve was angry with himself. So fucking angry. He’d been with Bucky while Wanda had been sat on the cold, hard ground. He still believed that she hadn't been in any immediate danger, but the thought that she'd been alone and vulnerable and probably frightened out of her mind made Steve's skin crawl and his stomach knot in a hot, vicious tug.

 

“Wanda,” he said soothingly as she threw herself at his chest.

 

She felt so small against him, and he couldn’t help wondering what the game had in store for her. Her head was so fragile in the cradle of Steve’s big hand. How much pressure could her skull withstand if her nightmare was an avalanche of rocks, or a vertical fall, or—

 

Steve recoiled out of his own thoughts, revolting himself with how readily his brain conjured horror after horror.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked, pulling away from her anxious grip long enough to check her over. “What happened? I mean — how did you get here?”

 

Wanda made a muffled noise of confusion, erratically shaking her head. “I don’t know, I just... I don’t know—” She cut off as a rickety door slammed open onto the street, and Steve’s heart crashed into his chest.

 

Almost instantly the sound of their friends’ voices rushed into the night air, as familiar and reassuring a sound as any Steve could think of in that moment.

 

He watched them run out onto the street like wild animals let out of confinement. Each of them scanned the new location for threats, and while the dark left lots of room for danger to hide, their body language relaxed in unison when they spotted Steve and Wanda in the lone strip of light.

 

Clint rushed towards them. “Wanda? What the hell are you doing here?” he asked in a hushed voice, brow furrowed in concern.

 

“Clint," she smiled, another layer of relief putting color back into her cheeks. “Where are we? I was literally just in Steve’s apartment. What’s going on?”

 

Tony nervously looked around at the deserted street. “Kind of a long story,” he said dismissively. “We should go.”

 

“We played a game and now we’re in it,” Clint said, ignoring Tony completely.

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Turns out, when you lack the delicacy of detail the story’s really fucking short.” He sniffed, looking away as he spoke with a flourish that Steve knew was designed to hide his nerves. “I’d like to point out at this juncture, and at every available opportunity, that this was also Steve’s fault.”

 

Steve didn’t have the energy to be offended, so he let Peggy’s irritated glare do the job for him.

 

“Okay, so you were at Steve’s place,” Clint urged gently. He went to take his jacket off and wrap it around Wanda, before realizing he'd left it on Steve’s sofa, an entire universe away. “Then what happened? I didn’t think you could come to Tony’s party.”

 

“I couldn’t, but our concert conductor was taken ill and the performance was cancelled.”  She paused, turning to Steve as though she’d just remembered something, her accent more pronounced in her fear. “There was a strange man hanging around outside your door.”

 

Steve frowned, skin crawling. “What did he look like?”

 

“Dark clothes. A hoodie pulled up over his head. He was just sort of waiting in the hall then I turned the light on because it was so dark and he ran off.”

 

It could have been almost anyone.  Dark clothes and a hoodie accurately described 90% of Steve’s neighborhood, but he automatically thought back to the alley outside the games store and the shadowy figure that lurked on the other side of the street. He turned to Clint to find his eyes already on him, intent like he was reliving the same memory. Steve drew in a breath, and directed his attention back to Wanda. “How did you get in the apartment?”

 

“I may know how to pick locks,” she admitted with a little shrug.

 

Her small smile was contagious and Steve found himself reflecting it, teasingly raising his eyebrows at her. “Did you even bother to knock first?”

 

“Of course,” she said, tilting her head playfully. “But you didn’t answer so I let myself in. I didn't think you'd mind... you had a frightening man lurking around your apartment after all. I thought you’d gone to get more food and saw that you’d started a game. There were some spare counters so I began playing. You know, to catch up with you guys.” She paused and looked at Clint, continuing with a distinct irony, “I didn’t want to miss the fun.”

 

Clint cursed under his breath and Steve could feel his barely repressed shudder.

 

“Did you draw a nightmare?”

 

“No. That sounds horrible. Do I need to?”

 

“Unfortunately not,” Peggy said with a worried frown and a glance in Steve’s direction. They all knew that the game would know Wanda’s nightmare whether she’d drawn it or not.

 

“I don’t understand,” Wanda continued. “I put my playing piece in the house and then I passed out. Are you seriously saying that we’re actually in the game?”

 

Wanda looked at Steve with such searching, trusting eyes that Steve felt anxiety cinch his chest. The way he’d felt with Bucky in his arms, like the burden of duty and accountability had slipped from his shoulders, now seemed like an experience from another life. He couldn’t help feeling like he was juggling all of their lives in fumbling, incompetent hands, waiting for one to fall from his desperate grasp.

 

After a handful of long seconds, Steve knew he needed to say something because the vain hope was starting to fade from Wanda’s eyes. He relayed the story — a tale of nightmares that his clumsy, incompetent words could never truly describe. He was an unreliable narrator attempting to stay objective when he was entirely biased, and he couldn't keep the blush from his cheeks as he carefully redacted the story’s romantic sub-plot. 

 

He spoke even though it felt like murderous hands were at his throat squeezing against every word. It hurt, but he made his voice obey him anyway, right up to the point where the friends had split in the ballroom and Clint had to take over to cover the time when Steve wasn’t there.

 

At that point Steve excused himself, stepping away under the pretence of reconnaissance. In truth he couldn’t see a damn thing in the pitch black, he just needed the distance to breathe.

 

He felt Sam’s reassuring presence before he heard him. “Remember we’re a team, Steve,” he said quietly when they were out of earshot. “You don’t have to do this alone. You know they don’t blame you right? I mean, nobody blames you... about the game.”

 

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to hear about his lack of guilt when he knew full well the part he’d played in this, and he certainly didn’t want to hear it from Sam, who’s eyes still showed the scars of his nightmare.

 

Scraping his foot against the asphalt, Steve threw his head back to look up at the sky, which only offered him a face full of rain. He hoped that Sam would let him change the subject. “You all been okay?”

 

“Yeah, we were just waiting until that door appeared,” Sam replied, blowing out a breath into the night sky. “Tony kept us entertained.”

 

“I bet he did,” Steve said through a huff of laughter. The return of Sam’s smile, soft but genuine, was enough to ease the tension out of Steve’s shoulders.

 

His smile slipped slightly. “Did he tell you about his nightmare?”

 

Sam was intuitive and he knew that Steve could be direct and up-front, but he also knew that Steve had a tendency to hide subtext behind the questions that were easier to ask. He heard the unspoken, ‘Did he tell you we broke up?’ and nodded slowly. “He told us enough. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad.”

 

Steve glanced at him quickly. He didn’t know what to say, and Sam must have known that, because he carried on talking. “The dog came in soon after you left, but apart from that nothing happened. Clint’s pretty attached to that dog. Says he wants to take it home.”

 

Steve felt a swift stab of sadness, because he wouldn’t mind taking Hunter home either — because it meant taking Bucky too — but that just wasn’t possible.

 

“We were waiting a while,” Sam said.

Steve looked at his friend carefully. Sam wasn't reproaching him. His smile was teasing despite the concern in his eyes, but Steve felt guilt anyway. The worst of it was that no matter how sharp the wire noose of guilt pulled, he couldn’t — wouldn’t — let himself regret what had happened on the astrology platform. He wouldn’t regret Bucky full stop. Even if he should... even if a better man would.

 

He was thankful that it was dark because it hid the flush on his cheeks. He cleared his throat and stood awkwardly. Sam clapped him on the arm. “Come on, let’s get back. We need to try and find this nightmare. Better believe it’s around here somewhere.”

 

Steve followed him back to find that they’d formulated a plan of sorts in his absence. It involved wandering the street aimlessly, but it was better than standing still in the rain which was coming quicker and steadier now, soaking through their clothes like it wanted to penetrate their skin with cold.

 

At first there was nothing. Just the dirty street stretching out into the darkness, run-down houses like the epitome of every bad neighborhood Steve had ever lived in, and the shattered rhythm of their footsteps making them sound like a defeated army stumbling back from battle.

 

But as they walked, the street changed. The asphalt slowly gave way to cobbles — just two or three to start with, spread out across the width of the street, then they slowly multiplied until only uneven stones were underfoot. Peggy noticed first, nudging Steve and indicating to the floor with a solemn expression. They exchanged glances, but didn’t comment. They’d seen too much already to be shocked.

 

The cobbles weren’t the only change. The streetlights had been few and far between, so when the next one had a live flame and no bulb, it was noticeable to everyone. Then the street became narrower, and the buildings shifted, changing structure in the secrecy of shadows.

 

When the next streetlight revealed a cathedral, Tony couldn’t keep the silence any more. “What the fuck… ?”

 

The building towered over them, beautiful and majestic, and unmistakably gothic with its pointed arches and flying buttresses.

 

“It looks like we’re in London,” Peggy said cautiously. “Only... maybe in the dark ages. The game takes inspiration from our minds, but this isn’t me.”

 

“Then it’s probably me,” Tony said with the same faux-carefree attitude with which he approached almost everything. “We travelled a lot in Europe when I was a kid. Gothic architecture kind of creeped me out. And then Dad would give me history lessons — the bubonic plague, torture of accused criminals, the Great Fire of London... that sort of thing. Really fucking creepy. ”

 

Absorbed by Tony’s words, it took Steve a few strides to notice that Wanda was no longer with them. The rest of them slowed to a stop when they realized, looking back to where Wanda had frozen mid-step.

 

“Wanda?”

 

Her eyes were anywhere but on them, fingers dancing by her hips, grasping and releasing her drenched dress in a fidgety grip. Then she turned to Steve with harrowed eyes. “I’m sorry. I think I know what’s going to happen.”

 

“Wanda.” Clint's voice was urgent. “What is it?”

 

“Uh, Steve,” Sam said urgently. “Look!”

 

Fear shot down Steve’s spine as he followed Sam’s line of sight to a nearby building where plumes of thick grey smoke were spilling out of broken windows. Thick smog billowed into the air like a germinating terror, almost as dark as the night itself, and when flames started to lick around the edges of the window frame, Wanda stumbled back with a high pitched shriek.

 

“Fuck,” Steve muttered. “Okay, we stick together, follow—”

 

Before he could say anymore, the flames erupted. Fragmented glass and pieces of timber scattered like rain over their heads, forcing them to split apart to dodge the spray of debris. Another house flared into life. 

 

They stumbled back, slipping on the slick stones of the flooded street. Clint caught Wanda around the waist on her way down to the ground, but she still ended up on hands and knees. Clint and Steve helped her up, but she was shivering, shuddering, with a torn red satin dress, terror in her eyes and blood on her hands.

 

All around them houses were catching alight, blackening wood and ruining brick, quick and fierce. It was like nothing Steve had ever seen before, and it thundered as it ripped through the buildings, catching and consuming, so bright that the black street was incandescent with the rage of Wanda’s fear.

 

The fire forced them further along the road where the path was clear, but they couldn’t escape the strong acrid smell of smoke which caught in their throats and burned in their lungs. The air was a thick cloud of it, and it pressed down on them from all sides, making it impossible to see each other and keep together as they ran. 

 

For one spine chilling moment, Steve thought he could smell burning flesh and he had to swallow back bile.

 

The rain came down in torrents now, vertical waves hammering a death beat on the cobbles. It was a lake on the street, and as if the water itself was flammable, it lit and turned to flame in front of their eyes — a fire from hell that fuelled itself on the only thing that Steve could think would stop it. 

 

It grew to a wall of intense heat, creeping forwards and rushing them back, spitting sparks. In the almost blindness of night and smoke, Steve grabbed the nearest person to him and hauled them back the way they’d come. The chaos of panicked voices was barely audible over the angry roar as it chased them back until they were met with another wall of fire on the other side.

 

In his peripheral, Steve could see Tony trying to get his attention, pointing towards the cathedral. The flames were already creeping around the ground floor, flickering out where the stained glass windows had blown, but it was their only option. By unspoken consensus, they ran for the heavy door and pushed through it, bundling and crashing into each other as they did. 

 

Once inside and with just seconds to assess their situation, Steve swept his gaze to Wanda. Clint was holding her so tight for fear of losing her that the skin of her arms was blanching white.

 

The vast, domed inside of the cathedral was already filled with flames, forcing them onto a spiraling staircase. Pointing up towards the spire, Tony shouted, “Up there!”

 

“We can’t go up,” Steve shouted over the roar.

 

“Where else are we gonna go?” Clint yelled back, pulling Wanda along under his arm.

 

“Bucky said to go down not up.”

 

“Bucky isn’t here,” Tony shouted angrily.

 

Steve steeled his voice with authority and felt his face harden. “And _I’m_ saying we go down not up.”

 

Just then there was a crashing of fire, stone and timber as the entry way fell behind them. Peggy screamed as a sharp flint glanced against her leg, spilling blood.

 

“Down,” Steve said again as he pulled Peggy into him and steered her onto the stairwell.

 

“Down,” Clint agreed. “Let’s go.”

 

They tripped on the steps, nursing an injured Peggy, dragging Wanda while she was shaking and hyperventilating, all of them struggling to breathe into blackened lungs. But as quickly as they could stagger down the steps, the scorching flames followed behind, flickering and leaping, spitting searingly hot cinders that caught Sam’s cheek and Steve’s hands and ripped yells from their throats.

 

Then from somewhere over his shoulder, Steve heard a blood curdling scream. Wanda was standing on the steps in Clint’s arms, screaming over and over, and pushing him away. Hair wet and lank against her face, eyes rimmed red and streaming with tears, she screamed like she was begging for her life. And Steve couldn’t understand it because the fire had actually slowed. They were getting away from it, they were surviving her nightmare, but Wanda was gurgling with terror, crying out and pushing Clint away with frantic jabs of her hands.

 

“Get out of here,” she screamed. “It’ll get you too!” She shrieked, wincing away from an invisible enemy as though there was a tornado of fire whipping around her feet. “Get away from it! Can’t you see it?!”

 

Clint grasped her desperately, his voice pleading. “There’s nothing there, Wanda. The fire’s back there.” He grabbed her hands. “Please, come with us.”

 

She just sobbed, frightened eyes flicking around her feet. Only Clint’s grip was stopping her from bolting back into the wall of fire that hovered behind. She collapsed and Steve leapt the couple of steps back up to them, charged with adrenalin, and dropped to his knees with her. “Wanda, please! We have to go before it starts moving again.”

 

Her nails clawed at his hands, trying to fight him away… away from herself, and the danger only she could see.

 

“It’s on me!”

 

It was like a slowed down horror film. In the instant Steve went to lift her up she disappeared in a split-second snap of nothingness. She just evaporated, and Steve was left with empty hands clenching a satin dress that was no longer there.

 

There wasn’t time to think about the hollow sound Clint made into the space Wanda left. The fire that had stalled with deliberate calculation while she'd been consumed by phantom flames was now rushing forwards again, and Clint was making no move to back away. Steve shouted at him, grabbed for him despite the heat that felt like a burning brand on his skin.

 

Someone was pulling the back of his t-shirt to yank him away, but he was falling back anyway, pushed away by feathered wings that come between him and the flames.

 

“Stop it!” Steve shouted. “Hunter, stop!”

 

A deafening screech was his only answer as the owl continued to powerfully beat them back, threatening pointed claws to shepherd them from the fire. 

 

Clint shouted at her, his voice a  choked rasp. “Stop! What if she’s still here somewhere!”

 

But Steve knew that Wanda was gone, and Sam was hauling him and Clint into an almost tumble, flames flowing like lava on their heels. As they spilled out at the bottom of the steps, Steve frantically got his feet under him and dragged Clint back and away from the door.

 

Only then did the fire stop. It halted abruptly when it reached an invisible barrier across the doorway. The flames still came for them, rushing against the barrier where they were pushed up and back before they charged at it again — a hissing, writhing cycle of menace.

 

Steve hauled in breaths of fresh air and dragged his eyes away from where the fire was still licking around the door frame like it was looking for weak spots. A quick look around confirmed that they were in a wine cellar. It didn’t belong in a cathedral, but nor did a fiendish fire, or a shape shifting animal, or a girl… a girl that disappeared into her own nightmare.

 

Steve grimaced, stomach churning. God, what had he done? He’d let her slip away, let her life drop from his scrabbling, inept hands. He swallowed hard. “Everyone okay?”

 

Peggy nodded although tears were slipping down her dirty face. Tony’s eyes were dazed as he sat next to Clint, looking up at Steve. “Jesus, what the fuck would have happened if we’d gone up?”

 

Clint just stared at Steve from the floor, his dirty blonde hair covered in white ash and his mouth a flat, grim line. “Where is she?”

 

Steve stared right back, fighting the need to squirm under Clint’s hard gaze.

 

“Is she dead?”  

 

He flinched, stomach a hot mess of nausea and guilt. If she was dead, it was on him.

 

“It’s okay, Clint,” Peggy said, moving to sit the other side of him. “We’ll get her back.”

 

Clint thrashed further away from her, and further into himself. “How, huh?” He demanded, angry and hopeless. “How are we gonna do that?”

 

They all looked to Steve, asking questions that he didn’t have the answers to. With a flash behind his eyelids he remembered Wanda’s expectant eyes looking at him with an unwavering trust he didn’t deserve, and it was like he was drawing in stale air that didn’t reach his lungs. 

 

He averted his eyes because he couldn’t hold their gazes any longer, and came to rest on Hunter who had shifted form and was curled up as an arctic fox in the corner of the room. She was barely distinguishable from the fluffy white ball she appeared to be, but her eyes were peeking over her tail looking both chastised and piqued.

 

Ignoring the way the air seemed to press all around him, Steve straightened his shoulders, swallowed his guilt and grief, and prepared an answer for them. But then Sam was there, sitting next to Clint and speaking in a hushed voice that washed over them all in a reassuring wave.

 

Startled, Steve looked at Sam and let him lead with such an intense feeling of gratitude that it sent his emotions careering back to the surface and hot, insistent tears prickled behind his eyes.

 

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he muttered to Peggy, before losing himself in the racks of wine. Desperate for space, he moved far enough away that he could let out a hollow sob and the others wouldn’t hear. He braced his hands on a shelf and pressed his forehead against the hard metal frame. When the bite of initial pressure faded, he pushed down harder, letting the pain blossom until his heart hurt less.

 

There were livid red scratches on his hand, a reminder that Wanda had hurt him to save him, that Hunter had done the same… that the whole nightmare had been real. He glanced away, blinking back tears as bottles of wine and liquor smugly looked down from their comforting rows of uniformity.

 

**_“Bucky... please. I need you.”_ **

 

The words themselves, even without the expression of voice, were desperate and choked when he thought them. He didn’t know if Bucky would hear him but he didn’t know much in that moment — only that he needed Bucky.

 

He didn’t have to wait long. Bucky ghosted up behind him, silently wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and gently pressing the length of his body against Steve’s back, solid and strong. Steve sighed out the ache in his chest and eased his weight into the embrace.

 

Endless minutes passed in which Steve felt the vicious gnaw of regret ripping at his stomach, when his chest felt compressed under his own inability to protect his family, as he let silent tears roll down his cheeks. If he focused on syncing his breathing to Bucky’s, imagining that he was soaking up Bucky’s strength, he could pretend Wanda was safe. And all the while Bucky held him, taking Steve’s weight without a word of complaint. It was a touch that would go nowhere and demanded nothing. Bucky knew what he needed and he just gave and gave, heat and comfort and adoration.

 

**_“Sorry.”_ **

 

“It’s not your fault,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky soothed his hands over Steve like he could sew up the rips of his heart, even though he was partly responsible for causing them... even though he had the power to tear them open again.

 

Bucky gently turned him so that Steve could look into his clear blue eyes. They gleamed with the moisture of unshed tears. His hair was longer and Steve reached out to brush soft strands away from his face.

 

He wanted to ask about Wanda so desperately, but he couldn’t force the words passed the lump in his throat. With a shiver, he remembered he didn’t have to.  ** _"Is she alive?”_ **

 

“Yes.”

 

The single word lightened his bones, a sudden euphoria through his veins. His throat let slip a sound that was half laugh, half groan. She was alive. It didn’t douse the guilt — he was still culpable and everyone knew it — but she was alive at least.

 

“Don’t do this,” Bucky breathed forcefully. “Don’t blame yourself.” He clasped a hand around Steve neck, pressing his lips to Steve temple so fiercely it could almost be aggressive. “Please don’t.”

 

“How do I get her back?”

 

“You don’t,” came the firm response. “ _I_ do.”

 

Steve’s body stilled as he processed Bucky’s words, searching his eyes. “You’d do that?”

 

Bucky huffed, shaking his head, and spoke Steve’s name like a reproach. “Yeah. I would.”

 

Steve inhaled deeply, breathing Bucky in. “God, what happened?” He whispered desperately. “Why couldn’t she finish with us?”

 

“The nightmare consumed her. She lost the game.” Bucky ran a hand along the side of Steve’s face before adding, “Technically it means she belongs to the Shadow World now, but she’s alive, for as long as I can keep her that way.”

 

“I don’t know how this happened. She’s brave.”

 

“Nightmares are the only things that will break the brave.”

 

Steve silently let his eyes roam Bucky’s face. How could he not have known back in the games store? Bucky was too beautiful to be human. It wasn’t just his pretty face, the soft curves and firm lines of his figure, his fire and passion, his vulnerable softness, it was something intangible about him, like he was polished by the gods. An angel sent to hell — one that could wipe out whole civilizations.

 

Steve felt his hands clench on Bucky’s gray sweater at a sudden chilling thought. “Can _they_ get to her?”

 

“It’s possible.”

 

“Fuck,” Steve bit out.

 

“Steve, once she started playing I couldn’t undo it. I need you to know that I didn’t go after her.”

 

“Well someone did,” Steve said, and Bucky’s face creased in confusion. “There was someone waiting for us in the alley after I bought the game. He followed us and he was waiting outside my apartment when Wanda got there.”

 

The flash of shock and worry on Bucky’s face was swept under a calm mask in a matter of seconds. He pulled away slightly, as though he knew he had to leave but couldn’t stand the thought. “I need to go. I’ve got to try and work out how to get her back.”

 

“Stay and we’ll work it out now.”

 

“Yeah, right,” Bucky scoffed weakly. “That’s not going to happen. Every time I’m around you I lose more brain cells.”

 

Steve's lips twitched in a tiny smile.

 

Bucky brought his hands up to cup either side of Steve’s face tenderly, rubbing his thumbs over drying tear tracks. “I know this isn’t how you’re supposed to love someone,” he said, a passionate desperation thickening his voice. “How is it that of all the millions of people I’ve watched, you were the only one I went back for? The moment I saw you, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep away from you. I made that choice. I knew it might put you in danger and I still did it. By the time I realized... shit, Steve, it was too late, and I—” He abruptly looked away, hair swaying back across his cheekbones. “It’s like I said from the start... I’m exactly what they all say I am.”

 

“Stop,” Steve whispered, squeezing Bucky’s hand hard and pulling him closer so he could feel the heat of Bucky’s chest against his.

 

“I do love you, Steve,” he whispered into the shell of Steve’s ear.

 

Despite the shade that Wanda’s disappearance had thrown across his heart, Steve felt himself melt at the words.

 

Bucky pulled back, eyes searching his, but he didn’t ask for a response. Instead he said, “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted you to hate me.”

 

“I don’t hate you.”

 

Bucky met his gaze, jaw clenching. “Maybe you should.”

 

Steve heard a strangled sound fall from his own lips. “Bucky, everything is so mixed up right now. This game has turned my world upside down. And in it, in the very middle of it, is you. I do want you Bucky. The thought of leaving you here physically hurts. And that’s not even real, it shouldn’t hurt like that. There’s something going on between us and I don’t know what it is, but all I know— ” He stopped abruptly.

 

He’d rambled himself into sense, and he suddenly knew that none of it mattered. He was falling for Bucky, and when Steve fell, loyal and unconditional, gravity would only take him one way. So he was falling for a demon, and he doubted that hell would offer a sympathetic landing.

 

He took a deep breath and slid his hand into Bucky’s hair. “Say it again.”

 

Bucky looked at him curiously, opening his mouth on a question, then Steve could see the moment he remembered the word love falling from his own lips, the moment he realized exactly what Steve was asking for. His beautiful eyes were bright and an amazed smile danced on his face. “Only if you promise not to say it back."

 

Steve’s breathing rushed. Part of him wanted to grab that out like a lifeline, because of course he couldn’t love Bucky already, but another part of him wanted to fight him on it, to whisper the words first so Bucky couldn’t stop him. In the end, Bucky's wide-eyed plea won out. “Alright."

 

Bucky smiled, grateful and loving and shining so bright in the darkened places of Steve’s heart.  ** _"I love you.”_ **

 

Steve couldn’t have stopped the smile even if he wanted to. The words felt so good, like a sudden flush of heat. Sunlight on his skin in a world of shadows. Like the ground was slipping at his feet, but was waiting to catch him.

 

His body melted like candle wax back against the shelves as Bucky leaned forward to rest their foreheads together. All Steve could feel was the warmth of Bucky's words, the steady beat of his heart, shallow little breaths tickling Steve’s neck as he brushed his nose against Steve’s jaw, and—

****

“Steve.”

 

Steve jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice, bumping back into the racks. He flinched, knowing that Sam had found them so close, but he wouldn’t let go. He gripped Bucky’s bicep, hoping it would prevent him from evaporating into a cloud of golden sunspots.

 

Sam barely looked between them before he said, “We’ve got a big problem.”

 

~

 

**Notes:**

  * **Chapter definition. Expansion:** an added variant, additional scenario, or new player/s
  * As always, I'd absolutely love to know what you think! Comments and kudos are life.
  * Please also feel free to come say hi on [Tumblr](http://little-lottie.tumblr.com/)




	11. Power Creep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the amazing comments, and to everyone who has read and given kudos — I really appreciate it.
> 
> I have updated the tags to reflect that this chapter contains a description of torture (nothing too graphic in my opinion, but let me know if you'd like details before you read) and a brief reference to past dub con (explanation in the end notes). I have also added a new character tag as we meet another shadow man.

**~**

_'Darling don’t be fooled, you did not tame the wolf in me. You only gave it a reason to be more feral.'_

— Unknown

**~**

 

With the hum of Bucky's touch still on his skin, Steve’s gaze swept over Sam. He took in his words, the tension in his frame and the heat in his eyes, and Steve’s gut tightened.

 

Sam wasn't prone to exaggeration. When he said there was a problem, Steve didn't question him.

 

“It's Natasha,” Sam said, eyes flicking to Bucky.

 

Steve frowned. “Is she here?” The question was tentative. If she was with them, she was infinitely safer than on her own, but Steve could already tell from Sam’s face that the news probably wasn’t as simple and welcome as that.

 

“No, but Clint can see her," Sam said solemnly. “And I mean,  _only_ Clint can see her."

 

Steve startled, sickened by the image of Clint being haunted by the undead specter of his girlfriend. He pushed back off the wine rack with a jolt and bumped up against Bucky.

 

“It’s okay,” Bucky muttered, running his hands up and down Steve’s biceps. “He’s not going mad. It’s the nightmare, not him.”

 

“That doesn’t really help, Bucky,” Steve snapped without thinking.

 

Bucky stepped away abruptly, ripping himself out of Steve’s hold. His hair was mussed from Steve’s fingers and his brow was creased with hurt, but he didn’t say anything and Steve knew it was because he thought he deserved it. That he deserved all the fury and blame Steve could throw at him forevermore. 

 

Angry with himself for lashing out, Steve stepped across the gap to wrap his arms around Bucky's waist, to press their temples together and push his apologies like soft kisses into Bucky’s mind.

 

“I have to go,” Bucky whispered into his ear.

 

Steve nodded, letting Bucky pull away before quickly grabbing him back. “Wait! The nightmare... who’s is it?” 

 

He didn’t know why he was asking. Bucky seemed adamant about keeping him in the dark when they were about to face a new nightmare, and he wasn’t even sure the answer really mattered anymore. Whoever’s nightmare it was, they would have to face it and it wouldn’t be pretty no matter how prepared he felt, but he couldn't help but try.

 

“Is it Clint?” His certainty started to fade when Bucky’s face settled into a blank expression. “Natasha?”

 

The demon regarded him another moment then pulled a face — the physical embodiment of _‘fuck it’ —_ before saying, “It’s both.”

 

Steve blinked at him in surprise, not least because Bucky had actually answered the question for once. “What?”

 

“It’ll make sense,” he answered softly, running a thumb over Steve’s jaw. “I have to go. I’ll get Wanda to a safe place, I swear.”

 

Bucky’s voice was strong and determined, but the kiss he brushed against Steve’s cheek was gentle. He pulled away from Steve’s reluctant hold, and disappeared in a flash of sparks.

 

Sam stared at the dissipating glimmer and cursed under his breath. "Just so you know,” he said, flicking his finger between Steve and the space Bucky had left behind. “I have some things to say about this situation.”

 

Steve felt a rebellious smile flicker across his lips. Sam was serious, but he wasn’t angry, and he’d always have Steve’s back no matter how inappropriate his choices.

 

“Oh yeah, it’s funny now,” Sam retorted with a sour expression. “Just don’t come to me when you leave your heart in this god forsaken place, because I’m not trained to deal with this kind of shit.”

 

Steve winced at the words. He couldn’t think about his heart — if he did he’d realize that he was well on his way to losing it, and that the question of whether or not it would make it back to Earth in one piece was entirely dependent on whether he could find a way to take Bucky back through the portal with him.

 

When he looked up, Sam’s eyes were serious. “So, Natasha _and_ Clint?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve sighed.  “Come on. Let’s get this done.”

 

When they’d weaved their way out of the wine racks and back to their friends, Clint was still sat on the floor where Steve last saw him. His face was pinched, lips pressed into a grim line and his hands fidgeted restlessly by his legs, but what was most alarming was his eyes, which stared out at the room unseeing. Steve’s heart rate spiked.

 

There was a strange filmy haze across Clint's eyes which made them look milky but for the sharpened ethereal blue of his irises. The effect was ghostly and disturbing, and as Steve crouched down in front of Clint, he felt pins and needles rush across his skin when Clint showed no signs of seeing him.

 

“Clint,” he murmured, gently placing his hands on his friend’s arms so he wasn’t startled. “You holding up alright, buddy?”

 

“Steve?”

 

Steve flinched, face flickering with sympathy and unease. “Yeah, it’s me.”

 

“I can see her. She’s right here in front of me, but nobody else can see her. Can _you_ see her?”

 

“No, Clint. I can’t. But we’re going to find her and help her and then we’re gonna go home.”

 

Clint bowed his head. “She’s so scared,” he whispered.

 

“We’re going to find her now. Come on, get up and hold on to me.”

 

Clint ran a hand through his hair, dislodging some of the white ash from Wanda’s nightmare. He rubbed his palms against his jeans to rub the sweat off, and held them out for Steve to grab. Hauling Clint to his feet, Steve made a farce of assessing their options even though it was obvious where they would be heading - a new door had just appeared on the other side of the cellar.

 

The door itself was a harsh, reinforced metal slab which was swung partially open to show a gloomy room on the other side. Walking through the door revealed it to be everything it had hinted at. It was dim and bare, with stark right angles and straight lines.

 

Treading careful, Peggy walked across to a glass wall opposite.

 

It was so different from the magic, austerity and beauty that they were used to seeing in the game, but this new room was good for something at least because the sheen on Clint’s vision lifted and his eyes returned to their normal pale blue with a little flicker.

 

“Thank god for that,” he muttered, shaking his head as though trying to chase off the last of the blindness.

 

Peggy ripped her eyes away from the glass at Clint’s words, the expression on her face a mixture of horror and skepticism, as though she wasn’t convinced that Clint’s returning sight was the saving grace he thought it was. 

 

“Steve,” she called very carefully, a well concealed note of panic in her voice.

 

Steve forced himself forward even though every nerve screamed at him to stay back. Alongside Peggy, he looked at her first, buying himself a few extra seconds before he had to face whatever waited for them on the other side of the glass.

 

Carefully quiet so the others couldn’t hear, Peggy said, “She can’t hear us.”

 

She could only have meant Natasha, and Steve couldn’t put this off any longer. He turned his head to find Natasha sat on a hard, unforgiving looking metal chair in the very centre of another cold, barren room. 

 

Horizontal white panels were screwed to the three solid walls, dirty and smeared red with what a grimacing Steve could only imagine was blood. Nat’s feet and arms were stretched into a position that made it look as though she was bound, even though there were no visible restraints, and she was underneath the sinister light of a single bulb that hung ominously from the ceiling. The only other lighting was at floor level, but instead of brightening the room, it only served to cast eerie shadows across the rough concrete.

 

Next to Natasha was a metal desk. One quick glance turned Steve’s stomach so violently that he wanted to look away. The entire surface of the desk was covered in knives.

 

Nothing was happening, the knives remained on the desk, but Natasha was clearly terrified regardless. She was trembling, chest rising and falling with frantic shallow breaths, pulling at the magical straps with terrified eyes, and she was so pale. 

 

Steve should have been prepared for this, should have known something like this would be Nat’s nightmare. He knew what it took for her to relinquish control of the choices in her life, and knew there were very good reasons for it. This loss of agency and power was exactly the nightmare he should have predicted for her.

 

He grit his teeth until his jaw hurt, and then he still didn’t stop. “We need to keep Clint away,” he bit out under his breath.

 

But it was too late because Clint was hovering right next to him, approaching the glass and looking through. He lurched forward with a desperate groan when he caught sight of his girlfriend, bound and frightened. “Nat!”

 

She didn’t move, didn’t register the sound or the sight of them, and it became obvious that they were standing in front of a one-way mirror. Steve’s hands fisted at his sides. They were looking at an interrogation room, and Natasha was on the wrong side of it.

 

“Natasha!” Clint’s shout bounced uselessly against the glass, sending a ripple of hysteria through them all.

 

Steve clocked his friend’s face in one broad sweep and reached out to Clint, but whatever words he was planning to say were cut off but a chilling scream. Clint threw himself at the glass, palms open and thumping against it as though he could push it over with sheer force of will and love. On the other side, Natasha bit off the shriek as her body flailed, hands fisting, muscles working against the invisible straps.

 

At first Steve couldn’t see the reason for the sudden scream. Then he saw Natasha look down at her left arm where a pearl of blood appeared, welled up and rolled down the curve of her bicep. Agonizingly slowly, the spot of pierced skin elongated into a thin line of scarlet like a knife was being dragged across her flesh.

 

“What’s happening?!” Clint shouted, voice cracking.

 

Steve’s pulse was thumping a livid beat in his ear, heart pounding so hard he wondered if it would fail. It would have done ten years ago, when he was weaker — in body if not in spirit — but now his heart was strong and his chest broad, like the fates had predicted that he’d need to be stronger to endure the pain he’d face here.

 

As he watched, the blood from the cut swelled and spilled, ribbons of red sliding down Natasha’s arms and trickling in a steady flow to the floor with an echoing spatter that could only be heard in the sliver of spaces between screams.

 

When another incision started an inch lower, it was like Clint suddenly realized exactly what was going to happen and he slammed his hands against the glass. Over and over, Natasha's skin was scored, so that in no time as all there were a dozen lateral cuts tattooing her skin with ugly red welts, and her shrieks were only punctuated with little pauses when she clenched her jaw in defiance, limbs rigid and back bowed.

 

The others could only watch. A grim audience lined up against the glass, waiting for it to be over with a desperate hope that crushed their chests. And with sickening anticipation they waited for the invisible knife to cut deeper, longer, and in the places that would spill the most blood.

 

“Fuck!” Clint swore, his sobs echoing around the room. “Fuck... please.”

 

He pummeled at the glass, pushing Steve and Sam away from him, and when his knuckles were raw and there was blood smeared on the glass, he just thumped harder.

 

Steve tackled him round the waist hauling him back a stumbling step so Sam could wrestle himself between his friend and the glass.

 

“Clint,” Sam said firmly. “You don’t have to watch this. It won’t help her.”

 

Clint’s movements suddenly stopped and he glared at Sam with a static energy, chest heaving in labored breaths and brow shining with sweat. “Would you turn away if it was Riley?”

 

Sam inhaled sharply, instinctively reaching his hand to his chest, pressing the dog tags to his skin and against his heart. Then Natasha’s cries intensified and she was vibrating in the chair as a new cut formed across her collar bone, like the invisible knife was working its way towards her throat.

 

Worse than her screams were the spine-chilling silences when her voice simply failed, and she was thrashing against the bonds in muted agony. Through it all, the blood still flowed, dripping down to the floor with hollow thuds, soaking into her pants like the cruelty of this world seeped into everything; freely and without remorse. 

 

Sam was right. The smartest thing to do would be to cover their eyes and turn away. But in this, where it counted, every single one of them was stubborn. They’d step out of the safety of a crowd, hold out their hearts to be shattered, share the suffering of another as though it would somehow help share out the pain. But like most things, the split was never even. One always suffered more than most.  This time it was Clint, who stood helpless, tears flowing freely down his face.

 

Finally, and not until Steve thought Natasha would pass out from the pain or blood loss or that Clint would crush the bones in his hands against the unyielding wall of glass, the very first cut began to heal.

 

Steve would never understand these nightmares. How the game decided when they were over. All he knew was that slowly, one by one, the flesh at each of Natasha’s lacerations knitted together to leave faint silver scars. Her screams diminished to exhausted whimpers.

 

Finally, when the last cut had healed, a door appeared on the wall of the interrogation room.

 

Natasha made a noise of surprise and went to release her arms from the back of the chair, but there was no give. It was then that Steve noticed a shimmering cloud of gun-metal gray hovering above her like a collection of tiny metal farthings shivering in the air, beating like an angry heart.

 

The friends watched in silence as the pulsing, sparkling shadow slowly condensed and wrapped around itself to form a long, thick rope.

 

Clint realized what was going to happen in the next second. He made a harsh, guttural noise and threw himself back at the glass as Natasha’s frightened eyes tracked the rope as it lowered, painfully slowly. It slipped itself around her throat in a snake’s coil. She was instantly gasping, lungs pulling hard to drag in strangled wheezes of breath that died impotent in her mouth. They were all fighting against the glass again, fists and feet and shoulders slamming against it while Natasha was writhing, gaping, with no breath left to scream.

 

Her body was convulsing, so close to the open door and Steve still couldn’t understand why her nightmare seemed to be over but was also replaying, spiraling, at the same time.

 

Then just a fraction of a moment later, Bucky was by his side. “Something’s wrong,” he said urgently. “This wasn’t in the nightmare.”

 

 _The others_ , Steve thought. His blood flashed cold and bile curdled in his stomach as he watched Bucky walk straight through the glass which shattered at his touch, raining with an ironically meek harmony of clinks onto the floor.

 

The barrier finally destroyed, the friends surged forward across the divide. Bucky was there first, grabbing at the silver-gray noose which turned midas gold as he ripped it away. It disintegrated as Nat hauled in as much oxygen as her lungs would take. Stepping away, Bucky slipped into the background to let Clint get to her.

 

With a bark of relieved laughter that sounded more like a dry sob, Clint pulled her to him, as gentle as a person could be when they could once again hold a loved one they thought they’d lost. He was pressing so close it looked like he wanted to share her skin.

 

The rest of them watched on in relieved silence as Natasha’s breathing evened out, until she was able to look up, cheeks ruddy with tears but a brave tilt to her head. She offered a detached smile. It was tiny and didn’t reach her eyes, but it was infinitely better than the screams of pain that still rung in Steve’s head.

 

They all shared glances as if seeing each other for the first time in months. It made sense — they were different versions of themselves than the ones that had landed in the parlor. They were exhausted now, battered and bruised, souls worn thin, barely breathing.

 

And Bucky was different too. Steve glanced back to where he stood alone, watching carefully. Steve wanted him to stand with them, but knew why he couldn’t. Bucky met his eyes, vibrant pools of glacier water, cautious and guarded.

 

“James,” Clint said hoarse. “Thank you.”

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows and a little choked off sound fell from his lips. The look of awe on his face made Steve smile softly.

 

He dimly registered Tony sweeping a look across the group of friends with a shocked expression. “Thank you?” he exclaimed in disbelief. “I accept that he’s probably the best of a bad lot, but is everyone conveniently forgetting that he put Nat here in the first place?”

 

The subsequent hush in the room was loaded. Sam was the only one willing to put his finger on the trigger by breaking the silence, but in the way that only Sam could, he engaged the safety instead with a careful change of subject. “The silver light show... was that the other shadow men?”

 

Bucky looked up, startled but recovering quickly. “Yes. They know.”

 

“That you broke the rules?” Steve clarified quickly. “Will they come for us?”

 

“They will, but not now. If they wanted to do this en-force, they’d be here by now. They’re playing their own game.” He moved forwards with a sudden purpose. “We need to get out of here. There are a couple of places they can’t go. Follow me.”

 

Everyone went to move like Bucky’s words were made to be followed, but when they turned towards the door there was a stranger leaning against it with thundering eyes. 

 

He was rugged, and compact, built like a fighter and staring them down with a challenging expression. He looked so different to Bucky — from the way he held himself, to the scruff on his jaw — that Steve wouldn’t have thought that they were cut from the same cloth. But he was undoubtedly another shadow man. Bucky’s kin, if shadow men cared enough to consider their fellow demons kin.

 

Amongst all their differences, the only tell was the flickering magic that danced around their fingertips. Bucky’s shimmered like sun shining through spring rain, and the other’s pulsed like storms and star dust.

 

So, this was one of the others. Steve had expected fire and retribution. A catastrophic and deadly display of power. What he hadn’t anticipated was that this stone cold silence would be far more terrifying.

 

The man in black was looking Steve up and down in blatant disregard, his mouth twisted in distaste. When he spoke, it was rough and inelegant. “This him?”

 

Bucky huffed a disbelieving laugh, his eyes cold. “Oh come on, Brock,” he said, voice laced with an acid bite. "Don’t be shy — I know you’ve seen each other before."

 

Brock shrugged, caught out and not caring, a nasty smile creeping onto his face. “Your boy been telling tales?”

 

Steve bristled slightly under the man’s mocking glare, and he felt Bucky brush a cautionary hand against his thigh.

 

“This is _my_ game. You shouldn’t have been watching him.”

 

“Boss wanted to be sure you’d given him the game,” the demon said, eyes sliding to Bucky. “He didn’t think you’d go through with it.”

 

Bucky glared a warning at him. “You shouldn’t have come here, Brock.”

 

The man didn’t react to the words, he just stared at Steve with a hard, fixed gaze that was clearly intended to intimidate. Steve’s skin prickled but he didn’t break eye contact. After a few moments, when it became apparent that Steve wasn’t going to lower his gaze, the shadow man sneered.

 

“My game,” Bucky repeated, “ _My_ players.”

 

“Not anymore. You broke the rules, kiddo, and now you have to share your toys.” The shadow man paused to rake his eyes over Steve again. "To be honest, considering the amount of time you swan about mooning over him, I expected... more.”

 

“Shut your mouth,” Bucky hissed venomously, eyes flashing bright with anger. “Stay away from him. Don’t look at him. Don’t talk to him. And stay out of my game.”

 

“We’ve stayed out of your business far too long,” the man snapped, dark eyes piercing. “The elders have turned a blind eye to all your shit till now because you look the way you do. It’s about time they tightened your leash.”

 

“They just trust me more than you.”

 

The man scoffed. “The only reason they let you run about doing whatever the hell you want is because you’re pretty.” He paused, a thin knife suddenly appearing in his hand. “But we could change that...”

 

He suggestively brandished the knife in front of him, level with Bucky’s face but Bucky didn’t even flinch. He was as fierce and unafraid as Steve had ever seen him. An unshakable, intimidating thing of darkness. But whenever Brock looked at Steve, Steve could _feel_ the fear radiating off of him, jumping the gap between their hands.

 

Bucky affected a dramatic sigh as though he was being terribly inconvenienced. “You won’t come near me with that. You don’t pick fights you can’t win.”

 

Brock laughed, gruff and loud into the room. “I won’t come near you with this,” he corrected, “because I like your pretty face as much as the next idiot. And you still owe me.”

 

Bucky’s breath hissed out between his teeth, and Steve could feel the tension hardening his body. “I settled that debt,” he said very quietly.

 

Brock winked at him lewdly. “Yeah, you sure did.”

 

Bucky balked, glaring at the other demon balefully, and Steve suddenly found himself hot with the swift stab of jealousy. “Stop,” he snapped, voice edged dark.

 

Brock just laughed at him and turned back to Bucky. “I could have told them more, but it doesn’t matter now. You’ve ruined yourself anyway. You won’t get away with this one — no matter how hard you bat your eyelashes, no matter how good you are on your knees.”

 

Steve wrapped a protective hand around Bucky’s waist, felt the flush of their connection coursing through his nerves.

 

“You’re such a child,” Brock patronized. “One of these days you’ll learn fear... and god, you’ll fear me then.”

 

“One day,” Bucky agreed, a dark smirk painting his lips. “When you learn to be something worth fearing.”

 

Brock froze, blinking at Bucky in surprise.

 

“Give yourself a minute,” Bucky lilted in a condescending tone as though Brock hadn’t understood the insult. “You’ll get there eventually.”

 

Brock growled low in his throat, body tensing, muscles bunching, and lurched forward. Half a step into his attack, two ribbons of gold materialized and snapped around each wrist pinning his hands back to the wall.

 

“You little slut,” he snarled. “You think I can’t break this?” 

 

But he either couldn’t or wouldn’t because he remained trapped against the wall even as his wrath manifested into metallic snaps of silver around his body.

 

“You think I don’t know how to hurt you, kid?!” His smile was rough and feral. “We’ll see." He turned to Steve, eyes gleaming with cruel delight. “He’s a monster. A really fucking good one. Bet he didn’t tell you about the time we took out those villages in England. Dozens of them, one after another, in a single night.” He glanced at Bucky with an appreciative grin. “Didn’t even use your magic for that one, did you? The damage you can do with those pretty hands.”

 

“That’s enough!” Bucky snarled.

 

“Blood looks good on you, James. There’s nothing better than pale skin slicked with blood—” Brock’s words cut off as Bucky threw out another ribbon of magic. It took form in the blink of an eye, then just as quickly snapped and evaporated. When he spoke again, it was chilling. “Try and gag me again, and I’ll punch his heart out through his spine.”

 

In his peripheral, Steve could sense Peggy and Sam moving slowly; he hoped towards the exit and not towards the bristling demon.

 

“Let’s see,” Brock continued, a crazed note of blood lust back in his voice. “Then there was Rome.”

 

Bucky reached back, holding his hand out to Steve, but Brock was talking again with malicious relish and with words that put ice in Steve’s veins.

 

“James, weren’t there _kids_ in that auditorium?”

 

Steve’s breath caught as he stared at Bucky’s outstretched hand, his head spinning. Slow seconds ticked by and he couldn’t look up, couldn’t meet Bucky’s eyes.

 

 ** _"Steve,"_**   Bucky pleaded desperately. Steve waited, but he didn't say anything else. Bucky didn’t utter excuses or apologies that wouldn’t mean a damn thing anyway, he just left Steve caught in the cross fire of his own warring emotions.

 

“He didn’t tell you that one, huh?” Brock barked. “He’d probably forgotten. He’s been boring for an entire decade.”

 

The rational part of Steve’s brain was very quiet but it must’ve heard something in those words that it liked, because he found it easier to raise his head to meet Bucky’s uncertain gaze. He reached out and took Bucky’s hand, and saw his face fill with a soft wonder.

 

“And I _mean_ boring,” Brock continued regardless, eyes drilling into Steve. “Except that night last year when you started hooking up with your pal.”

 

Steve automatically looked over at Tony, and could have kicked himself when Brock’s eyes tracked his movement.

 

“Right,” the shadow man smirked, victorious. “That guy.” Tony narrowed his eyes and awkwardly cleared his throat, but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.  When he didn’t get a reaction from Tony, Brock slid his eyes back to Steve with a blood-thirsty grin. “James kicked up a fucking storm that night.”

 

Bucky looked at Brock like he could simultaneously rip his throat out and crumble under his words.

 

“Bucky,” Steve murmured, soothingly.

 

In a flash the demon whipped round to him, the vicious snarl he’d been aiming at the other shadow man still on his face. A primeval mask of bared teeth and unearthly amber irises. Steve recoiled and Bucky’s face softened instantly, vanishing away the cruelty and magic so that Steve could lose himself in the winter storm of his eyes. There was so much in those eyes — remorse, love, anger, resignation, defiance. And it was no longer fear that Steve felt in the space between them. Whatever emotion Bucky was pushing through their connection, it felt like an electric charge in the air around them. When Steve glanced across at the other demon, he noticed that his smug smile had started to slip.

 

Steve assessed him. He was the rough where Bucky was the smooth. The wraith in the centre of the shadow where Bucky hovered on the edge of the light. Bucky had said that his kind were made to take human form, and Steve couldn’t help but wonder where the rest of the shadow men stood on the scale of darkness. How many gradients of shadow existed in what outwardly appeared to be a world of invariable black?

 

Brock’s hands were fisted in the restraints, dark magic seeping through the seams between his fingers. “You can’t keep him safe,” he threatened.

 

Bucky’s returning smile was chilling. “Really? Well you’re here and he’s leaving.”

 

“Yeah,” Brock laughed out. “ _I’m_ here. But where are the elders?”

 

The words snapped something inside of Steve, releasing a new flood of adrenalin, and he was suddenly aware that his friends were backing away behind him, rushing to the door as quickly as they could without taking their eyes off the man in black.

 

“Steve,” Peggy hissed. “Come on.”

 

 ** _"Listen to her, Steve."_** Bucky’s voice was panicked. **_"_ _Go. I’ll find you. Get to the ballroom and go through the mirror. Don’t look back, don’t get distracted. Go, no_** ** _w!"_**

****

Steve’s gaze darted from Peggy to Bucky to Brock, the loudest part of his mind crying out for him to stay, to fight and not leave Bucky’s side again.  **" _Bucky, no."_**

 

“You know what will happen if you do this,” Brock told Bucky, ignoring the retreat of the players. “They’ll have someone collar you. Or kill you. Either way, I’ll make sure I’m first in line. Is he really worth it?”

 

**" _I’m serious, Steve. You have to go. I can’t send you there. I’m suppressing his magic, but he’s suppressing mine too._ "**

 

Steve was prepared to stand his ground, to wait for Bucky so they could somehow leave together, but Bucky turned around and used the last of his spare magic to push Steve stumbling back into Tony.

 

Tony grabbed Steve's arm, keeping him off balance, before yanking him across the threshold and slamming the door in Steve’s face.

 

Enraged, Steve shoved Tony off of him. “I was handling myself!”

 

“You don’t need to handle anything, Steve,” Tony retorted. “He said we were leaving, so we’re leaving!”

 

“Steve, stop,” Peggy said firmly. “We can fight when we’re somewhere safe.”

 

Steve’s anger simmered, but he knew she was right. “Bucky said we need to go back to the ballroom.”

 

“When did he say that?” Tony asked, suddenly alert.

 

Steve ignored the question, he wasn’t ready to tell them that he and Bucky could hear each other's unspoken words — the reality made even less sense than it sounded — and he didn’t like the idea of hanging around.

 

He could see the staircase from where they were. Using it as a way finder, he closed his eyes and pictured the paper house and its layout, relieved to finally be able to do something useful. “Okay, I know where to go,” he said. “Nat, we have to move, are you going to be okay?”

 

She nodded. Her jaw was clenched with determination, her face still smeared with the residue of tears and etched with the exhaustion of pain.

 

“Alright, follow me.”

 

They rushed through the house, trusting Steve’s direction, and it wasn’t long before they came to the last split point before the ballroom. Steve started to lead them to the right when he heard Tony’s voice.

 

“Steve,” he shouted. “Look.”

 

Tony was pointing to the opposite end of the corridor where a gray and white marbled husky was wagging its tail and fidgeting like it wanted them to follow it.

 

“Shouldn’t we follow her?”

 

Steve was on the very verge of saying yes. Of leading them away from what he was sure was the direction of the ballroom, towards the security of Hunter’s safety, when something caught his eye. “That’s not Hunter,” he whispered urgently.

 

Clint’s body tensed behind him. “Shit, he’s right.”

 

The dog froze as if sensing their reluctance. Stock still, it was even easier for Steve to confirm that both of its ears were entirely intact. “Back away, Tony.”

 

As soon as Tony took a cautious step away, not-Hunter growled. It was a ferocious rumble of sound. A sheen on its fur shivered and its coat darkened to a dark gray. It readied to attack, but just before it lurched forwards, there was a matching snarl from behind them.

 

Steve pushed Sam out of the way just as Hunter bolted through them, pushing the other dog into a rough tumble and snapping her teeth brutally. Steve didn’t want to wait to see the outcome. This was Bucky’s distraction to help them get to safety, and he was going to take it. “Go!”

 

They turned and sprinted away, following Steve’s lead and spilling out into the ballroom where the growls and yelps of the two fighting dogs were fainter, and where Steve could shove Tony and Peggy into the mirror. Sam helped Clint and Nat through next, leaving Steve to spare a glance at the door to check nobody was on their tail.

 

His heart jumped to see a shadow on the threshold, but it was only Hunter. She was sitting down like she’d just arrived, and there wasn’t any sign of the other dog. The fur across her front was crimson and it seemed to be stemming from a gash at the base of her throat, but there was also blood around her muzzle and she was inclining her head like an exhausted victor. She looked at Steve and thrashed her head forward as if to hurry him up.

 

Bracing himself for the drop, he held his breath, forced himself not to look back, and walked head on into the mirror.

 

~

**Notes:**

  * **Chapter Definition. Power Creep:** The gradual unbalancing of a game due to successive releases of new content.
  * **Dub con:** There is a reference to a past dub con situation with Bucky and Brock Rumlow (another shadow man). It’s a very brief reference with no detail. It’s also possible that it wasn’t dub con at all, but it isn’t clear so I wanted to warn for it.
  * As always, I'd absolutely love to know what you think! Comments and kudos are life.
  * Please also feel free to come say hi on [Tumblr](http://little-lottie.tumblr.com/)




	12. Group Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the amazing comments, and to everyone who has read and given kudos - I really appreciate it.

**~**

 ' _Ixion’s not a place for friends. They die or they leave._

_On Ixion you need allies.'_

― [**Marianne de Pierres**](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/287923.Marianne_de_Pierres), [**Shine Light**](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/15428604)

**~**

 

Like Alice’s tumble through the looking glass, the journey to the other side of the mirror took a second at most. But in the way of nightmares and fairytales, it was long enough for Steve's brain to imagine dozens of different horrors lurking on the other side. He trusted Bucky, whether he should or not, but he didn’t trust this world, or anything else in it.

 

Steve felt like he’d left half of his soul with Bucky in the interrogation room. He didn't want to think about how he'd fled, leaving Bucky running on empty in a standoff against his fellow demon. One who was clearly out for his blood... or something else. He didn't know if Bucky had even made it out of there. And he didn’t want to think about that either.

 

He grit his teeth against the swooping drop in his stomach and the dizzy head rush, but he’d learnt enough to balance himself so that his exit from the glass was slightly less than a stumble and more like a controlled step. As gravity settled back down to weigh heavy on his bones, he could practically feel the pull on his fraying edges, the rip of his tired seems, and desperately missed the sensation of floating.  
  
Straight away he recognized the room as the library that Natasha had been confined to earlier in the game. His friends were all grouped around the rectangular oak table. Tony, Sam and Peggy were standing to one side, conversing in hushed voices, and Natasha was sitting on one of the heavy wooden chairs with Clint on one side, and Bucky on the other.

 

**" _Thank god."_**

****

The demon span around on the spot, a smile already forming on his lips. He stood up from where he was crouched in front of Natasha, as lithe and as quick as Hunter in lynx form, and practically ran the few paces between them.

 

Steve was completely taken aback when Bucky threw himself against his chest, the strength of him making Steve stumble back like he hadn’t since he was tiny. Bucky slipped his arms around Steve’s waist and pulled him tight, tucking his face under one side of Steve’s jaw.

 

Steve immediately wrapped him in, held him tight and tilted his head to lean against the silky softness of chestnut hair. Bucky’s breath ghosted against his neck and sent shivers tip-toeing down his spine.

 

He could feel Bucky’s heat through the flimsy, gauzy texture of his shirt, another one of those not-really-there outfits which showed more of his body than concealed it. When Steve pulled back slightly to look at him, he could see it was almost the exact blue of Bucky’s eyes.

 

“When did you get here?”

 

“Right before you,” Bucky answered.

 

His hair was shorter again, with a scatter of tiny hollow golden stars shimmering against his left temple and fading into his hairline like gilded tattoos.

 

His eyes skipped across Steve’s brow, cheekbone and lips as though he was trying to photograph each feature under the warm lamplight. With a drop like lead in his stomach, Steve realized just how frightened he’d been that Bucky would come to harm at Brock’s hand. He’d buried it deep in the panic to get to the mirror, but it surfaced now with a painful punch to the gut.

 

Pulling Bucky back in towards him roughly, needing to feel his weight against him, he screwed his eyes shut in a silent prayer of thanks to a god he hadn’t believed in since he was a child, and one that had surely never set foot in a damned world such as this one. But still, Steve was thankful.

 

Letting the buzz of Bucky’s energy settle in his bones, he opened his eyes to see every one of his friends looking back at him in varying degrees of shock over Bucky’s shoulder.

 

**" _Bucky, everyone’s looking."_**

****

He could feel Bucky’s delighted smile press against his neck, and a tickle of laughter across his collar bone, sending an ill-timed rush of desire pulsing through his veins.

 

Steve pulled back abruptly before his dick convinced him to push Bucky against a wall of books and claim him in front of his friends.

 

An awkward cough and a side step later, he’d extricated himself from Bucky’s hold. Unwilling to be without any contact at all, he put a hand on the small of Bucky’s back as they returned to the table.

 

“Hey,” he muttered to the room at large.

 

Looking for a distraction from the responding greetings – most of which were uttered through amused smirks – Steve let his eyes roam around the long room, and its curved creamy white ceiling with gilt floral patterns and pastel murals of serene looking angels.

 

There was an extra wall of books where there was once glass, and now inside the library, he could see a narrow staircase tucked away in the corner which spiraled up to allow access to the upper level of books. The wooden balustrade of the mezzanine was the same warm wood as downstairs, and Steve imagined that the scent of vanilla in the air carried up there too.

 

It looked a more intimate space, with soft chocolate leather sofas and paintings of chubby little wine-making cherubs. A peaceful sanctuary of books filled with fables that you could shut up and put away any time they felt too real. 

 

Steve’s eyes flicked back to the reality around him. Down here there was a horror story he couldn’t escape, and a demon he was falling in love with. He should’ve felt hopeless, but he didn’t. For the first time in the game, he felt hope.

 

His muscles sung when he sank down into one of the chairs. Bucky had taken a detour to a French dresser on the far wall and returned with the satchel he’d given Steve on the astrology platform.

 

“You left this,” he said as he passed it over. **_"Y_ _ **ou** know, earlier, in my room, when..."_**

 

A slow smile crept onto Steve’s lips. " ** _Are you actually blushing?"_**

 

The responding scowl forced a laugh past Steve’s lips,  which he had to cover with a cough.

 

Bucky sat in the next chair along and gently pulled Natasha’s arm towards him. Steve braced himself, expecting Nat to lash out, but she didn’t flinch. She just let Bucky hold her arm and run his eyes over her scars.

 

“I think that’s the best I can do,” he murmured softly. “I can’t fix the scars.”

 

Nat shook her head. “That’s okay.”

 

Her voice was rough and tight and when she coughed out the last word, she pressed her hand against the ring of bruising around her throat. She had sat at this very table just a short time ago - the copy of Rebecca that she’d been reading was still face down on the page she’d left it - but she was different now; quieter, paler, but calm with Clint’s arms wrapped around her.

 

Blinking away the softness in his eyes, Bucky looked around the table and with a rather bizarre domesticity asked, “Does anyone need anything?”

 

Sam and Clint narrowed their eyes at him, clearly trying to assess whether he was serious or not.

 

Tony didn’t seem to be bothered either way. “You got something opium related?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “He’ll have coffee.”

 

A little cyclone of gold appeared and disappeared in the space of a second, leaving a cafetiere and a stack of mugs. Clint lurched across the table, speaking more about his own caffeine addiction than his willingness to pour for the rest of them.

 

“So, that Brock’s a piece of fucking work,” he muttered, putting the coffee pot back on the table. He hesitated mid-sip and, having clearly reconsidered, pressed the cup into Natasha’s hands instead. “Are they all as bad as him?”

 

“They’re not as good as him,” Bucky answered with a humorless huff of laughter. “He’s the best it gets around here.”

 

Steve didn’t wholly agree with that statement, but he didn’t feel it appropriate to wax lyrical about Bucky in front of everyone, so he pushed his thoughts into Bucky’s mind instead and watched glistening blue eyes flick to him with a smile.

 

“Well, fuck,” Sam muttered.

 

“Don’t get me wrong. He’s malicious, and he’s smarter than he looks, but he’s not that strong.” Bucky spread his palm flat on the table like he was reading messages in the wood. “Let me deal with him.”

 

“No,” Steve blurted, voice loud in the contented quiet of the library. Thousands of books seemed to gasp, their spines glaring at him in rebuke.

 

Steve cringed at his own outburst, but his whole body wanted to shake with the memory of Brock’s lustful eyes poring over Bucky’s body, his allusion to debts unpaid... and ones that may have already been settled. His threats to collar and claim, to kill, still pounded in Steve’s head.

 

“I don’t want him anywhere near you,” he growled, not even surprised at the way his voice came out low and authoritative. “Ever again.”

 

Bucky shivered slightly at Steve’s tone and nodded, eyes dazed. “Okay." 

 

Bucky jolted and turned as if a sound had caught his attention. A beat later, a loud bark filled the room. It made Peggy, who’d been absorbed in watching Steve and Bucky’s exchange, jump in her seat.

 

Hunter padded towards the table, her fur its normal marbled black and white as though it had never been marred with the stains of blood, and Bucky’s whole body seemed to relax in one long exhale.

 

“There she is,” Clint said with a grin, jumping up to meet her and practically skidding on the parquet flooring in his eagerness. “Hey, baby,” he cooed, ruffling his hand over her head.

 

Bucky’s head whipped round with a disgusted expression that Steve found endlessly amusing.

 

“What happened to you?” Clint fussed in the same baby voice as he crouched down to let Hunter jump at him with a happy bark. “Are you hurt, girl?”

 

“She’s not a pet,” Bucky spat, affronted.

 

As though being deliberately defiant, Hunter threw herself onto the floor and rolled over so Clint could stroke her belly. Bucky rolled his eyes, but he was pursing his lips on a smile.

 

There was a long silence when the only sound was Clint moving to sit back at the table and Hunter settling at his feet.

 

“So what happens now?” Sam asked.

 

Steve’s eyes swept round the table, taking in every face - the original players and their unlikely ally in a strange parallel of the parlor. In the lifetime since then, the world had shifted its axis and had thrown them together; an improbable army.

 

Steve sat back in the chair. “We rescue Wanda,” he said, voice firm.

 

“How long have we been gone?” Sam asked. “It feels like days. Pietro will be going crazy.”

 

“He won’t notice,” Bucky said, accepting a cup from Sam – _“If you drink coffee, that is.”_ \- with a surprised smile. “The games do strange things with time. It’s sort of suspended. You won’t be missed for a long while yet.”

 

“That’s good,” Steve said. “But time isn't suspended for Wanda. I don’t want her to have to wait for longer than we can help it. Bucky, we’re going to need your help.”

 

The demon eyed him seriously. “I can take you to where she is, but then you’re on your own.”

 

Steve couldn’t shield the disappointment that flashed across his face.

 

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” Bucky protested. “I mean, I can’t go in. No shadow man can go in. That’s why I took her there. Word is that the place was cursed by Norse Gods, thousands of years ago. As it turns out, my curse is your blessing. She’s safe, but it’s you that will have to get her out.”

 

“What kind of place is it?”

 

Bucky’s words had made him think of abandoned wastelands, lonely, cold places, and Wanda trapped and wondering if anyone would come for her.

 

“A concert hall.”

 

Steve blinked at him.

 

Bucky shrugged. “It was safe and I thought she’d be comfortable there. Even found her a violin to play.” As though embarrassed by his own words, Bucky cleared his throat and looked down.

 

“How thoughtful,” Tony muttered.

 

Bucky didn’t look up, but from where Steve sat he could see his eyes glint gold in irritation. “I’ll come with you, I’ll take you there-”

 

“No,” Tony challenged. “We go alone.”

 

“Tony,” Steve scolded, turning to him. “We need Bucky’s help. The quicker we can get there, the quicker we can get Wanda.”

 

“The other shadow men aren't after us. They’re after him. We’ll get Wanda, and he can go face the music.”

 

“Can you hear yourself right now,” Steve hissed, anger firing every nerve and hating that Tony would attack Bucky at all, let alone in front of everyone.

 

Tony sighed angrily, his next words low and harsh. “I’m not saying he’s the bad guy, but he _is_ dangerous.”

 

“He’s in danger too.” Steve held Tony’s gaze. “And he can help us.”

 

“Yes, Steven,” Tony snapped. “But _is. he. safe_?”

 

The group looked at each other awkwardly. The real question, _‘Is he going to kill us?’_ couldn’t have been clearer.

 

Steve straightened his spine. “I’ve got his back," he said sternly, deliberately misinterpreting Tony’s question.

 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it-”

 

“I know what you meant,” Steve barked. He looked from Tony to Bucky, who was staring at the tabletop with a blank expression. “But Bucky’s trying to help us.”

 

“Tony’s right,” Bucky conceded quietly. “They are after me.” He paused to meet Tony’s eyes. “But they’ll take you too. They’ll take you and they’ll butcher you, because that’s what they do.  It’s what they are. They’re venomous and cruel. They take a life and they play with it and watch it die out. They crave it. It’s what makes them tick, but more than that, it’s the reason they’ve survived this long.”

 

“But you’re one of them,” Tony insisted forcefully, eyes darting to Steve. “Can you see why I’m having issues with this?”

 

Bucky held Tony’s gaze, expression blank, eyes unblinking.

 

“I was one of them. But I'm not a shadow man anymore.”

 

“What are you?”

 

Bucky looked lost for words. “Something else.”

 

Tony shook his head, unconvinced and desperate to make Steve understand. “Steve, come on, you heard what the other guy said. He painted a pretty vivid picture. Centuries of slaughter, and now what? We’re supposed to forget all that because he abstains for a decade.”

 

Bucky had averted his eyes to the table. Its surface was so glossy it reflected the mural above, and Bucky’s eyes flicked around like he was watching the painted angels lamenting, observing them as they reached out to one another, blessed but sad. Steve glanced up and could have sworn that they were moving - incrementally but in front of his eyes. Just the soft open and close of a mouth breathing, just the twitch of hands clasped in prayer.

 

“Did you even try to make up for what you’d done? Or did you just idly stand by and watch the rest of your kind take on the mantle of murdering children?”

 

Bucky’s jaw twitched, eyes shuttering in remorse.

 

“I really think-” Peggy started cautiously, only to be cut off by Tony who refused to be mollified.

 

“You may not have been an active participant the last ten years, but you certainly haven’t been a saint. And now we’re supposed to trust you? And just hope you don’t go on another jealous rampage." Tony drew in a long breath. "If we give them what they want, then we’re safer.”

 

“They want me,” Bucky said quietly, not lifting his gaze from the heavenly scene in ochre. “And they can have me. But I won’t let them have Steve.”

 

Tony gripped the back of the chair in front of him, knuckles white, and huffed in frustration.

 

“Tony, please,” Clint implored. “Think about Wanda. We could really do without this right now.”

 

Tony looked at him incredulously through a new wave of anger. “Yes, and Wanda could have done without thinking she was going to be burnt to death.” He waved his hand towards Natasha who regarded him in silence. “I would have thought Nat could have done without being tortured. How can you expect us to forget that he bought this on us?”

 

“Don’t forget,” Bucky interjected in a quiet, sullen voice. “I don’t want you to. I made a choice, and your lives were the risk I took. And I’d do it a thousand times again. If it’s this or Steve’s death, I’d choose this every time. It’s not much, but it’s a chance. And demon or not, you’d do the same”

 

“And what happens when it’s Steve’s turn? You gonna make him face his nightmare too?”

 

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“You wanna know what I think-?”

 

Bucky banged a palm down on the table, the vibrations of his magic making it quiver. It was like his patience had snapped straight down the middle. “I personally don’t give a fuck what you think, Stark. Whatever you have to say about me is probably all true. I don’t need to hear it from you to feel the guilt that I already feel every damn day anyway.” He took a breath, the fiery gold brand where his hand had slammed onto the table slowly dissipating. “I _am_ safe. With and around you. I swear it.”

 

Steve watched Tony’s lips twitch with the urge to question the worth of Bucky’s ‘word’, but he breathed through it, keeping his mouth tight instead. He looked around the room, at his friends who were purposely keeping their opinions out of the argument, until his eyes landed on Sam who nodded like he was encouraging a ceasefire.

 

After the longest of moments, Tony settled back into his chair and muttered something under his breath, which Steve took to mean he was reluctantly acquiescing.

 

“Alright, so the concert hall,” Tony said eventually. “What you got then, Hecate?”

 

Bucky squinted. “Actually, Hecate was - ”

 

Steve shot him a warning glare.

 

“No, I mean, absolutely,” he backtracked quickly, “Hecate’s fine.” His eyes darted to Steve with a look that said it really wasn’t. “Well, I can take you there whenever you want, but you need to be sure you know where to find her once you’re inside. The theory about shadow men not being able to get in is just that: a theory. It was better than the alternative, but we don’t want to push our luck. My advice? Get in as quickly as possible, then you get out.”

 

“What’s the layout?”

 

Bucky stood and opened a drawer underneath the table. He rummaged a few moments, then pulled out a small map. “Here,” he said, placing it on the table. “It’s falling to ruin, but this plan is accurate.”

 

Bucky paused when he noticed everyone leaning over to try and get a view of the tiny flat plan, then he picked Steve’s hand up and put it down on the map. Steve looked at him, waiting for him to explain what he was doing when something caught his eye. Very slowly, the points on the map started to move.

 

The dried ink turned fluid and began to flow under the pads of his fingers. Internal and external walls, stage and seating, they all turned to liquid. Then underground tunnels, balconies, and backstage passages, running in black, red and blue ink up Steve’s hand like a living tattoo.

 

Steve tensed, resisting the urge to pull his hand away. Bucky looked at him reassuringly as each of the elements on the map bumped over knuckles, wound around his wrist and crept up his arm, snaking underneath Bucky’s grip. The ink stopped rising at his elbow, condensing with the addition of each new point on the map, until the page under his hand was completely blank.

 

There was movement around him as his friends shifted to get a better look at Bucky’s magic, but all Steve could focus on was the rush of the connection where Bucky’s fingers encircled his wrist.

 

“Now...” Bucky murmured. “Hold your hand up.”

 

He led the movement, opening Steve’s fingers, and they all watched on in awe as the map projected up onto the white wall, big enough for everyone to see.

 

“Sweet party trick,” Tony grumbled.

 

“You like that one?” Bucky snapped sharply. “You’ll love the one with the flame and the little candle wax Stark.”

 

“Will you two stop?!” Sam practically shouted. “I’m so done with your shit. Get it together.”

 

After a beat of silence in which both men looked suitably chastised, everyone’s eyes went back to the map.

 

It seemed like a long time that they studied the plans, assessing the location of the main hall and the orchestral pit where Wanda was hiding, the option of the back alley entrance, and the quickest routes in and out.

 

“Do we know where that passage leads?” Steve asked Bucky eventually, his arm starting to ache and the coffee long gone cold by this point. “I can’t see it on the plan.”

 

Bucky put his own hand over Steve’s and tilted their fingers up. The map pivoted obligingly, then stretched out into a 3D image.

 

“That’s amazing,” Peggy muttered, walking towards it and running  her hands through the projection. “This is the one. It leads right from the back entrance, under the stage and into the pit.”

 

“Yes,” Steve agreed. “If two of us go, we’ll be in and out in five minutes.”

 

“I’ll go,” Sam volunteered, eyes working over the route.

 

“Alright,” Steve agreed. He glanced between the projection and Bucky. “Thanks Buck, we’re done.”

 

When Bucky didn’t move his hand straight away, Tony bristled. “Mischief managed,” he concluded with a glare, still watching the point at which Bucky’s hand was clasped around Steve’s wrist. “You can stop touching him now.”

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, and bit his bottom lip as though he could barely contain his delight. He relaxed his grip on Steve’s wrist, only to move his hand to run cool fingertips across the back of Steve’s neck, tickling his fingers into Steve’s hairline.

 

“Bucky,” he appealed, trying to summon some authority into his tone when Bucky’s faux innocent face just made him want to smile.

 

After a few moments, Clint hummed from across the table. “I can’t work out whether they’re just staring at each other or having one of their silent conversations.”

 

Every pair of eyes turned to stare at him.

 

“What?” Clint blinked, pulling a face at Natasha who was gazing at him in shock.

 

She turned her eyes on Bucky and Steve in contemplation. “Silent conversations?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Clint said. “I mean... you guys can talk to each other telepathically, right?”

 

Steve winced and purposely avoided looking at Bucky. “Umm, yeah?”

 

Clint shrugged and grinned, eyes scanning across the shocked faces around the table. “There you go. You all thought I was dumb,” he grinned, “but I’m not.”

 

Tony turned back to Steve, suddenly alert. “You can hear him in your head?”

 

Steve’s eyes flicked to Bucky. “Yes," he admitted, reluctantly. “And he can hear me.”

 

“He can read your mind?”

 

“No,” Bucky said. “Steve can push thoughts into my mind.”

 

“You’re being very vague,” Peggy observed lightly. “Are you just pretending to be aloof and mysterious or do you legitimately have no idea what’s going on?”

 

Bucky looked at her with such a slighted expression that Steve would have laughed if it wasn’t for the fact that he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

 

“I _am_ aloof and mysterious,” – Peggy rolled her eyes – “but no. I have no idea how this happened. It’s unheard of.”

 

Steve was pretty sure Bucky was lying.

 

“When did it start happening?” Tony demanded.

 

Bucky’s face brightened with a filthy grin.

 

“A while ago,” Steve cut in quickly. **_"Don’t even think about it, Bucky_**."

 

Bucky snorted. “There might be something about it in the book,” he suggested with a casual shrug. He indicated to the satchel and Natasha reached out for it.

 

She smirked. “You haven’t actually read this, have you?”

 

Bucky grinned conspiratorially. “I was gonna get round to it.”

 

“Hedonism keeping you busy?” Tony snarked.

 

“You can fucking talk,” Clint sighed.

 

Tony huffed but Natasha was speaking before he could retort. “Well, luckily I _have_ read it. Twice.”

 

Flipping the book open, she found the page she was looking for, and pushed it across the table to Steve and Bucky. She tapped her finger on a passage with an ominous _thud, thud_ that mirrored Steve’s heart beat.

 

“It talks about unusual energy connections linking two souls. It’s usually triggered by a particular sort of...” She grinned mischievously, “... act.”

 

Clint leant between them, reading over their shoulders.

 

“... sexual intercourse," he choked.

 

Steve slammed the book shut. He would have caught Bucky’s fingers in it if it weren’t for the demon’s snake-like reflexes.

 

Bucky looked intrigued. And about as far from embarrassed as a person could get.

 

Steve studiously avoided Tony’s heated gaze and Sam’s slightly concerned one. Clint’s shock was far more pressing, especially when he coughed on nothing but his own spit, and looked at Steve in horror. “You two...?”

 

“No! Well, yes, but err, we didn’t actually, you know... umm...”

 

Steve looked to Bucky for help, and groaned in despair when all he was met with was a toothy grin, bright teeth sparking in the lamplight.

 

Natasha cleared her throat. “I think it’s more about the end than the means,” she commented, pursing her lips to contain a laugh.

 

“I could’ve gone my whole life without knowing this,” Clint groaned.

 

“So,” Peggy smiled, popping her lips and raising her eyebrows at Natasha. “They’re connected. What does that actually mean?”

 

“It doesn’t say much about it. Its more myth than anything else. If Steve and James are connected in the way it describes here, then James' magic would be stronger when they’re together.”

 

Natasha wasn’t in the cave, but Steve remembered the way Bucky’s golden shield of magic intensified when Steve touched him. A glance to Peggy confirmed that she remembered it too.

 

“Anyway, we need to,” Steve made some bumbling gestures, then cleared his throat, “plan.”

 

Sam leant forward. “Okay, so we get Wanda, then we go home. Is the portal still open at the top of the house?”

 

Bucky nodded.

 

“Good. That’s good, but we can’t leave that way,” Steve pointed out. “If the portal’s still open then that’s where they’ll expect us to go.” He turned to Bucky. “I’m guessing they’re probably waiting there now?”

 

“I can’t tell for sure in here, the room is sealed off from them, but it's safest to assume that they’ll be waiting.”

 

“Are there any other portals?” Peggy asked.

 

“Dozens. Some go to Earth, some to other worlds. Most are to mirror dimensions.”

 

Sam frowned. “As in, alternate realities?”

 

“As in, sometimes a significant event, or something as small as a simple choice, will create a divergent pathway. When everything lines up, these can create a mirror dimension. A new version of a world, one that has the potential to be the same as the original, but is ultimately completely different as a result of that one action or decision.”

 

Like a penny dropping, Bucky’s words set the embers glowing under memories that Steve had pushed to the back of his mind. Of Bucky’s face in the light of the fire on the astrology platform, saying, _“You watch different universes, different dimensions for long enough and you find out that there is something better_ … something _good.”_

And of Sam’s heartbreak when he asked Bucky to bring Riley back to him, only to be told, _“The Riley you’d get isn’t your Riley.”_

 

Steve’s chest clenched to think of another world where Riley was alive and in Sam’s arms. And another in which Bucky was human and happy and the worst game they’d have to play was rock, paper, scissors for washing up duty. Steve palmed over his forehead, willing his brain to slot the pieces together. When he looked back up, Bucky was watching him with a concerned frown.

 

“Only a few will actually take you _home_ , but it doesn’t matter how many portals there are, or whether we can get to them, because the others will have thought of those too.”

 

Steve ran his finger down the cover of the leather bound book absently. “Do you have any other way of passing from the Shadow World to Earth?”

 

“Only the portals. Once we’re on Earth, we can only move about in the shadows, never the light, unless...”

 

Bucky cut himself off, eyes flicking in thought, before taking a breath and continuing. “There are halfway places. They’re like overlaps where universes and dimensions brush against each other. Anywhere else, I can slip through shadows, but in a halfway place I can move freely. But you have to have a portal to get to one in the first place.”

 

“Halfway place,” Steve mused.

 

“Yeah, like the games store.”

 

“Had the store always been a halfway place?” Tony asked sharply and Steve could see the gleam in his eyes, the one he got when he thought he might be on to something.

 

“No. It was just a regular games store-"

 

“- which had _shut down,_ ” Clint muttered, with a pointed look in Steve’s direction.

 

“Which had shut down,” Bucky continued with an amused smile. “The game used the shell of it and created a half way place.”

 

Tony and Steve looked at each other. It was Tony that lost patience first. “And the game made the portal to go with it? Can we create a new one?”

 

Bucky laughed harshly, but the sound trickled out when he clocked the sea of serious faces in front of him. “No. Definitely not.”

 

Peggy frowned. “Why?”

 

“The elders make the portals. I don’t even think the spell would work for me.”

 

“So there is a spell,” Steve confirmed, looking at Bucky intently.

 

Bucky huffed in irritation, but didn’t correct him.

 

“Could it work? If we could create a new portal wherever we like, then the others won’t be watching it. It’s the best idea we’ve got.”

 

The demon threw his head back and groaned. “Yes, it’s an idea, but it hinges on whether I can get the spell to work. Which, by the way, I probably can’t.”

 

Bucky’s tone was argumentative, but even if Steve couldn’t see in his eyes that he was seriously considering the idea, he’d be able to feel it from the other side of the room. Bucky’s emotions were as obvious in the energy between them as if he were pushing the words into Steve’s head, and Steve’s ability to read him like this seemed stronger every time they were together.

 

“But you’ll try,” Steve stated with complete certainty.

 

Bucky’s eyes met his, resigned and indulgent. “Of course I fucking will. If only to shut you the hell up.”

 

Then he looked up at Steve through his eyelashes, smile curling into a seductive smirk. " ** _Do I get to claim something in return?"_**

 

 ** _"Probably not."_** Steve smirked and looked away.

 

**" _Sounds like a yes to me."_**

 

“If we’re going to do this,” Bucky said aloud, looking round the table. “It has to be the last thing we do before you leave. A new portal sucks energy, but then it creates it, it’s like a tsunami of energy waves. They’ll feel it.”

 

Steve stared at Bucky in utter confusion as he mimed writing on the table, but before Steve started to worry for his sanity, he flicked his hand and a piece of paper appeared with the ghosted words embossed on it in gold ink.

 

“First, I need some help,” he directed, passing the paper to Peggy. “The spell’s in two parts. Find this book for me, and I’ll find the other one.”

 

Peggy accepted the paper with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. “I’ll take the liberty of imagining that there was a _‘please’_ in there somewhere.”

 

“If you like,” Bucky replied whimsically. He headed over to the corner of the room as Peggy started searching along the walls of books at ground level.

 

Steve stared after Bucky, watching the way his shirt shimmered in the lamplight and hinted at the soft skin and hard muscle underneath. Halfway up the staircase, Bucky noticed him staring and winked. " ** _You want me to magic you up here with me?"_**

****

**" _I want you to magic yourself into some proper clothes._ "**

****

**" _Aww baby, is it distracting you?_ "**

 

Steve laughed under his breath and ignored Clint who was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

 

“What do we do now?” Sam asked.

 

“Lay low for a bit. Rest. Not for long, but we’re not much use to Wanda if we’re dead on our feet.”

 

“Shall we play _‘I Never’_?” Clint muttered sarcastically.

 

“How about: _I Never_ want to play a board game again,” Natasha suggested, fingers absently stroking her throat.

 

“That’s not how the game works, but I’ll see it and I’ll raise you: _I Never_ want to play a game - of any variety - again.”

 

Sam tapped Steve on the shoulder. “Can I have a word?”

 

Sam led him away into a corner, noticeably the furthest point from where Bucky was searching through the book shelves above them.

 

“Is this the talk about those things you had to say?”

 

Sam huffed a weak laugh. “Nah, those can wait. This is more of an overarching theme.”

 

Steve groaned. “Okay, shoot.”

 

“Tell me you’re not planning on taking him home with us.”

 

“I know. Tony’s furious, but-”

 

“He’ll get over it,” Sam interrupted. “And you’ll have to get over it too, because we’re not taking James with us.”

 

“What?” Steve exclaimed in shock. “Sam, he saved Natasha’s life! He got Wanda away from the others, stopped your nightmare, healed me. And he had Hunter watch out for us when he wasn’t there.”

 

“But look what he _hasn’t_ done, Steve. He hasn’t done what he _should’ve_ done, which was to tell his shadow family to go fuck themselves before he would endanger your life like this.”

 

Steve flinched. “He didn't have a choice.”

 

“Steve. It doesn’t matter. He belongs here. James stays here.”

 

“His name is Bucky,” Steve insisted. “And he doesn’t deserve to be here.”

 

“He doesn’t deserve to be on Earth either. You take him back and what then? He skulks in the shadows, forced to watch you again – it didn’t work so well for him the last decade. What you want isn’t what Bucky needs.”

 

Steve sighed, clenching his teeth against his anger. The words hurt, and Sam’s kind eyes, offered to him like a band aid, wouldn’t even touch the pain. Sam was right; if Steve was selfless enough to listen was another matter.

 

“I need to go speak to him.”

 

Sam frowned but didn’t try and stop him. “I don’t want to say this, Steve, I really don’t. And I’m sorry. I really am.”

 

Steve nodded and turned with a tight smile. Sam was sorry, Steve was sorry. Bucky was definitely sorry, but it wasn’t making any of it easier. They were none of them happier. And the one thing that would make Steve happy was apparently the one thing he wasn’t supposed to have.

 

Up on the mezzanine it was as peaceful as Steve thought it would be. He found Bucky in a little hidden away alcove with an upholstered armchair and a tiny arrow slit window. He was sprawled in the chair, a book on his knee and his hand playing in the thin shaft of light.

 

Steve took Bucky’s hands in his; hands that were both tender and deadly. How many had died under these hands? These hands that had touched Steve more lovingly than any others Steve had known.

 

“The sun doesn’t hurt you,” Steve observed, as he watched the light caress Bucky’s skin.

 

He gave Steve a grim smile and pulled his hands into the shadows. “It’s not real sunlight.”  

 

God, of course it wasn’t. None of this was real, and Bucky couldn’t exist in Steve’s reality, where the sun burnt and shadows were fleeting and temporary. Steve pressed his tongue against the indents of his teeth to focus his attention away from the way his heart ached.

 

“Buck, I need to talk to you.”

 

Bucky’s face screwed up as though in pain and he stood quickly, hands shimmering like he was wearing gold glittered gloves.

 

“Steve,” he breathed, stepping forwards until there was only a layer of clothing and magic between their skin. “Please – I-I don’t want to talk.”

 

“But there’s something-”

 

Bucky rushed his lips to Steve's. “Don’t. Please.”

 

It wasn’t really a kiss, just begging words pleaded against Steve's lips, but sparks of pleasure raced across his skin anyway.

 

Bucky lingered close, but Steve was the one to respark the kiss, dragging Bucly in until Steve could feel his low humming purr of satisfaction all the way down to his bones.

 

Drawing back, Steve brushed his nose across Bucky's cheekbone, tracing the scatter of tiny stars at his temple. The magic quivered with excitement under his touch. “Say something,” he whispered into Bucky's hair.

 

“Aloud?” Bucky inquired in a teasing tone, one that suggested he already knew the answer. His magic crackled in Steve’s ears.

 

“No. Say something in my head.”

 

**" _Like what? "_ **

****

Steve groaned and Bucky shivered. His laugh was a tinkling sound that felt like butterfly wings kissing Steve's skin.

 

Steve greedily drank in Bucky’s slightly parted lips and the flush on his skin, then walked Bucky back to the chair, pushing him into its cushions and bracing himself on the wooden arms.Tipping his chin, Bucky looked up, eyes wide and waiting.

 

Without closing the gap between them, Steve slipped a finger under the collar of Bucky's ridiculously sheer shirt, the skin on skin contact making them both shiver, and stirring Steve to hardness under his zipper.

 

“Was it even worth putting this on?” Steve growled.

 

“You tell me,” Bucky purred back, a cheshire smile lighting up his face and making Steve twitch in his pants.

 

Bucky’s eyes slid shut as Steve ran a thumb over his bottom lip, dipping it into the warmth of Bucky’s mouth on the second pass. Doe eyed, the brunet sucked instinctively, cheeks hollowing, and Steve had to slam his eyes shut on the sight.

 

 ** _"Bucky_** ," he moaned with a tremble, pulling his thumb back to swipe a glistening shine across Bucky's bottom lip. " ** _God, Bucky."_**

 

**" _I'm here._ "**

 

Steve curled his hand away from Bucky's mouth and around his jaw, letting his thumb slick a wet mess across Bucky’s cheek, and making way for the press of his lips.

 

He kissed Bucky hard, hot, and rough, and Bucky responded with pliant eagerness. There was no way this could go any further. Steve’s friends were a short, spindly staircase away, and there was nothing to say that they couldn’t already hear the muffled moans that passed from mouth to mouth.

 

But Sam’s scolding, Tony’s hostility, the threat hovering over all of them, like vultures biding their time, set something alight in Steve that he seldom felt: selfish desire.

 

Dropping a hand to Bucky’s thigh, he flexed his fingers over second-skin-denim that seared with Bucky’s heat. Steve slowly followed the hot line of Bucky's leg to brush his knuckles against the tented fabric.

 

“Steve,” Bucky gasped. His hips rocked up for more pressure and Steve let him have it, turned his hand and let Bucky grind up against his palm. Bucky was so hard, eyes half mast and panting softly.

 

It was Peggy’s voice that shocked Steve upright, heart rate speeding. His breathing started to settle when he realized that she was calling from downstairs and nobody was watching them.

 

“James? I can’t find it.”

 

Bucky groaned in exasperation, stormy eyed and frustrated. He sent a despairing glance at Steve before he made his way over to the balcony, adjusting himself as he went. Steve took in a shaky breath to calm himself and shake off the disappointment, before he joined Bucky who was leaning against the balustrade dramatically.

 

“It starts with _A_ over here,” he shouted down, irritably, “and ends with _Z_ over there. It makes sense to me and it isn’t even my alphabet.”

 

“I know the alphabet, James,” Peggy said archly. “But the book isn’t here.”

 

Bucky blinked. “What?”

 

Steve cursed. “How bad would it be if the book isn’t there?”

 

“Bad. It’s the second part of the spell. We don’t stand a chance without it. Let’s just hope and pray that I’m a shit librarian and I’ve filed it wrong.” 

 

Bucky clicked his fingers and a thud and a scream echoed up from underneath them.

 

“There we go,” he said with a huff of relieved laughter. “I’m a shit librarian.”

 

“It’s here,” Peggy shouted from down below. “You could have aimed it away from my toes, James!”

 

Steve shook his head at Bucky in disbelief. “Couldn’t you have done that earlier?”

 

“It kept her busy,” Bucky shrugged. “And I like it up here.”

 

“Me too,” Steve smiled. “But we should probably get moving. I don’t want to leave Wanda alone any longer than we have to.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” the demon sighed, stooping to pick up the book he’d dropped earlier. He eyed it warily and Steve could feel his nervous energy.

 

“Can I still visit you when you’re home?”

 

Bucky’s eyes were hopeful and Steve’s chest tightened. So they were going to pretend that Steve would make it home, that Bucky would survive the wrath of the shadow men. And then, throwing lie onto pretence onto lie, they were going to make believe that having endured all that, broken and beaten down but alive, they’d go on to survive the heartbreak of living in separate worlds.

 

Steve swallowed down the sad tug in his chest. “Could I stop you?”

 

The joke fell flat if Bucky’s wan smile was anything to go by. Steve pulled him against his chest as though the solidity of their bodies pressed together would mend the tatters their hearts had made.

 

He stroked Bucky’s hair, committed the texture to memory, and sighed. “We’ll work something out,” he promised.

 

**Notes:**

  * **Chapter definition. Group think:** The general approach adopted by most of the players in a game, which to some degree determines how other players will need to play in order to succeed.
  * As always, I'd absolutely love to know what you think! Comments and kudos are life.
  * Please also feel free to come say hi on [Tumblr](http://little-lottie.tumblr.com/)




	13. Metagame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, but here we are! The last chapter! Thank you SO much to anyone who has read, kudos'd or commented. I've really appreciated all of the support and hope you like the last chapter <33

~

 ' _I didn't want to kiss you goodbye_

_that was the trouble_

_I wanted to kiss you good night_

_and there's a lot of difference.'_

― Ernest Hemingway 

~

 

The shadow world didn’t spin. It didn’t share an orbit or worship a sun. And it was too far from its reluctant neighboring star to feel its heat or bask in its light.

 

There was no cycle of day and night, no rhythm of weeks or months, and no sweetly shifting seasons. It didn’t even record the passage of time, which would imply change, fresh starts and bright beginnings; everything the shadow world was not.

 

Bucky narrated its depressing history as he moved around the mezzanine of the library, finding a bag and packing it with spell books and an assortment of items, most of which Steve didn’t recognize. His melodic voice rose and fell with the rhythm of the tale, flowing and mesmerizing, and, in Steve’s opinion, lending far too much color to the darkness of the words he was speaking.  

 

Steve listened intently and with a grim fascination, in the same way you’d receive bad news that wasn’t your own: with simultaneous horror and the innate human enthrallment for more. Steve was still possessed with the need to know, to prepare and to plan, even though the Shadow World was unpredictable and he’d never be able to discern its fight pattern.

 

So Bucky talked. Mostly aloud and sometimes slipping straight into Steve’s head when he was concentrating on finding the right candle - because as Bucky said,  _"who knows, we may need a flame"_ \- or locating a book behind which he’d apparently concealed a six inch hunting knife – because, " _we’ll definitely need blood"_. Steve swallowed hard but wasn’t anywhere near as horrified as he probably should have been, and Bucky just carried on, impervious. 

 

The demon upended a bag onto the table, tumbling tiny wooden ovals out with a clatter. 

 

“Runes,” he explained when he caught sight of Steve’s expression. “It’s how we make portals. How we pierce veils between the worlds.”

 

As Bucky talked, moving about with a purpose and competency that Steve found inconveniently arousing, a flashing golden snowstorm whipped around him. When it cleared, Bucky was wearing black cargo pants, a dark blue t-shirt and his hair was longer. It was roughly held back in a low bun, and Steve had to force himself to stay in his seat in order to keep from pulling the band out and running his fingers through the silky strands. He didn’t stop himself from drinking in the sight in front of him though.

 

“You got someone you want to impress?”

 

“Not particularly,” Bucky smirked. 

 

Moving the runes into little piles that appeared to Steve to have no discernible logic, Bucky said, "Actually, this is just what I usually wear. I feel comfortable like this,” he paused like he wasn’t entirely happy about admitting the fact. “The thing is, what happens next is going to be its own nightmare. I just want to be me.”

 

Steve smiled softly. “Well you’re gonna look good while you’re doing it.” He shook his head slightly when he felt his cheeks heat. “Anyway… light.”

 

“Yes,” Bucky smiled. “So light is created by the games the other’s play, but it’s fake.” He pulled another book from the shelf and reached behind it, then threw a candy bar at Steve’s head. “It’s just a synthetic recreation of the worlds we can’t exist in.”

 

Steve looked at the chocolate. “Do you actually eat?”

 

“Do you actually ever pay attention when I’m talking to you?”

 

Steve grinned. 

 

“No, we don’t eat. But that’s yours anyway.” 

 

“Mine as in, you bought it for me? Or mine as in, it’s actually mine?”

 

Bucky’s smile widened although he tried to hide it behind a map. “Yours, as in, I may have...  _commandeered_ it from your kitchen.”

 

“Putting aside the fact that you’ve been stealing my food and hiding it in your secret library, you haven’t been to my apartment for the better part of a year - is this even still edible?”

 

Bucky snorted. “Like that would stop you.”

 

Steve went to protest, but set his efforts to unwrapping the candy instead. “Why were you keeping this anyway?”

 

Bucky fidgeted. “No reason.” Steve sucked his lips against his teeth to keep from laughing and a blush rushed into Bucky’s cheeks. “Shut up, Steve.”

 

“Anyway, I was listening to you. No real light,” he summarized through a mouthful of chocolate. “But what does that mean exactly?”

 

“It means,” Bucky said, “that shadow men not only don’t eat, but they don’t sleep either.”

 

“That’s why you’re so perky and alert.”

 

“Yeah, but I’m not the only one. They never rest, never sleep. Never stop,” he said, locking eyes with Steve. “And we won’t have the cover of darkness when we rescue Wanda.”

 

Steve had already come to that conclusion, but the words felt like spiders crawling over his skin. Bucky unsheathed the dagger and held it to the light. 

 

“It would be a lot easier if we didn’t stop for her,” Bucky advised quietly. “We should get you and the rest home, and then I can get her through after you. I’d be happier knowing you were safe.”

 

Bucky's tone was neutral, but his expression was resigned as though he knew the answer before he’d even voiced the suggestion. Steve shook his head just like Bucky knew he would. 

 

“I’m not leaving without her.”

 

Bucky shook his own head, tiredly. “See how hard you fight for them?” 

 

Steve held his eyes, unwavering. “I’d fight for you too.”

 

Bucky just smiled at him sadly.

 

Steve didn’t have the words to tell him how he wanted to take him home, that he wanted to save him even though he’d already saved himself, that he wanted to earn the way Bucky looked at him like he had a hero’s face. And he didn’t know how to say that there were so many reasons why he shouldn’t, why he couldn’t.  

 

As Bucky turned for the stairs, and Steve went to call him back with words that stuck like molasses to his tongue, a part of him knew that when the time came, he’d ignore all the reasons and Sam’s warnings. But for now he just followed Bucky as they descended the staircase in silence, and Steve swore he could feel Bucky breathing, the echo of his pulse alongside his own. 

 

Back at the table, where Clint was slipping into sleep on Sam’s shoulder and Hunter was softly whining and fidgeting restlessly at Peggy’s feet, Bucky tucked the map into the bag and closed the zipper with a sense of finality.

 

“Where do we go once we have Wanda?” Clint asked. He shrugged when Natasha gave him an impatient look. “Sorry, but if you’ve already told me, I slept through it.” 

 

A smile threatened to curl Bucky’s lips and Steve couldn’t help thinking that he and Clint would make good friends given half the chance and a kinder world.

 

“The first part of the spell is needed to draw the power for making the portal,” Bucky recapped. “My power won’t be enough so I’ll have to draw it from something else.”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow, opening her mouth on a question then quickly shut it again with an odd look in Bucky’s direction. Bucky’s eyes slid away from her questioning gaze, and he continued. 

 

“I know where to go to get the power we need. We’ll have to do the second part of the spell there too. The others will feel the portal opening for sure, but they may also sense the increase in power when I try and channel it. Which means we have less time.” He took a deep breath and looked to Steve. “And we should really start moving before they work out where I put Wanda.”

 

Steve nodded. “Everyone ready?” 

 

He could sense Bucky warily sweeping his gaze over them like he personally felt they were all far from ready, but everyone answered in the affirmative and he remained silent.

 

He beckoned to Hunter who morphed into an owl in a spray of golden dust and hovered in front of him, powerful wings beating a draught that ruffled the pages of the book Natasha had left open. With a shrill noise she flew up and disappeared straight through the wall.

 

Steve watched her with a frown, and Bucky must have felt his worry.

 

_**“She’s gone on ahead to scout out the perimeter of the hall. She’ll be alright.”** _

 

Steve forced a strained smile. Bucky was trying to be reassuring, but it was wholly unconvincing when Steve could feel Bucky's worry as strongly as his own.

 

“I swear,” Tony started, low and hushed in Steve’s ear, “if he drops us straight into their laps...”  His voice petered out, not least because Steve had fixed him with a flinty look, but also because it was an empty threat. Tony knew as well as the rest of them that there was very little they could do in a viper’s nest.

 

Steve steeled his voice, glancing up at Bucky who met his gaze with shuttered eyes. “He won’t.” 

 

~

 

When they dropped through the golden tornado of Bucky’s magic, air thrumming in time with their thundering hearts, it was to find that the concert hall was so dilapidated it was almost unrecognizable as the building from the plans. It must have been beautiful once, and in another world it would have been a glittering, social hub, but it was beaten down with age and jaded with endless shadow.

 

For the most part they’d stumbled out of the magic into a heap on the ground. Only Natasha and Bucky planted themselves and stayed firm on their feet. Clint hadn’t bothered to get up again, and Nat, Peggy and Tony had all perched on the scattered debris of buildings around him.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Sam and Steve had run through their route and were standing shoulder to shoulder as they gazed up at the wreckage.

 

“I did say it had fallen to ruin,” Bucky said, slipping quietly alongside them. “Shadow men barely care for what’s around them, let alone a place they can’t go into.”

 

“Can you keep it from falling in on us?” 

 

“Yes, I can try,” he said slowly. It seemed as though it was taking a great deal of effort not to add, _‘but I don’t know if it will work’._

 

Just as he was about to follow Sam under the arch into the hall, Steve heard a soft,  ** _"Wait”._ ** There was a desperation in Bucky’s voice and Steve could tell he was itching to say something that might sound too much like goodbye, but in the end he just said,  _ **“See you in five.”**_

 

The rescue itself turned out to be surprisingly simple. The map was accurate, and Sam and Steve found and followed the route they’d planned with almost worrying ease. They knew when they were near by the hauntingly beautiful rise and fall of a violin.

 

Pausing only to share a relieved glance, they crept through the musty, damp building, hearts snapping a frantic beat which seemed so incongruous to the swooping, airy sound that Wanda’s bow made.

 

Her grateful smile when she saw them slipping into the orchestral pit was more than Steve felt he deserved, but she was safe and unharmed, and that was what mattered. Sam smiled and glanced around the space, taking in a heap of blankets, a book and a selection of instruments. 

 

“Hiding isn’t supposed to be this much fun, Wanda.”

 

“What came before was less fun,” she said, words slipping on the memory. “This though... this was okay. I’m glad you’re here.”

 

Steve glanced around nervously. “We’re glad you’re safe. Come on, we have to go.”

 

Scrambling out of the pit and retracing their steps, Wanda tugged on Steve’s sleeve, whispering, “What took you guys so long?” 

 

"When we’ve got a few hours spare I’ll fill you in. Let’s just say, we need to get out of here and fast. We may have a way home, but we’ve got shadow men on our tail.”

 

A minute later they turned the last corner. Steve was ready to breathe a sigh of relief when he ran straight into a solid wall of bodies.

 

“Run,” Nat yelled, pushing him back.

 

Steve’s heart crashed against his ribs. “What?!”

 

As soon as the question was out of his mouth he knew the answer, because now he could see Brock and two others - all with magic in their fists - walking towards the entrance of the hall. 

 

If Bucky was right in thinking that shadow men couldn’t step inside the building, Natasha, Tony, Clint and Peggy were safe, but Bucky was still outside and vulnerable, stepping back with every stride the others took forward.

 

A cold, slow smile spread across Brock’s face, roots of cruel delight growing out, creeping round and taking hold. They watched with a collective fear as Brock advanced and Bucky retreated with careful, calculated backward steps, hands up and glowing with streams of molten gold that swirled through and around his fingers.

 

Brock was clearly talking to Bucky, but Steve couldn't hear the sound. 

 

"We need to move, Steve," Clint said, grabbing his arm. He must have known Steve wouldn’t.

 

“Not without him.” 

 

Steve rushed forward with the intention of meeting Bucky at the threshold. To do what, he didn’t know. He just knew that Bucky was trapped on the other side of an invisible barrier, and that he was outnumbered.

 

It wasn’t until afterwards that Bucky seemed to realize he had walked straight under the arch of the hall. He looked down at himself and around in complete confusion, but his wide eyed look of awe was fleeting, because Brock was rushing for the arch with a relishing grin. They were all thinking it: if Bucky could enter the hall, then so could the other demons.

 

The shocked rage on Brock’s face when an invisible barrier blocked his path, would have made Steve laugh if not for the fear cinching his chest. 

 

The demon stared wildly between them, snarling from the other side of the divide and saying words they couldn’t hear.

 

“Well that’s something at least,” Natasha muttered at the same time Steve turned to Bucky.

 

“Get us out of here, Buck.” He didn’t want to stick around to find out whether Brock could break through the barrier, either audibly or physically.

 

Bucky’s eyes clouded with gold dust and Steve’s stomach dropped on another fall. When his feet landed on solid ground again, all he could see was Bucky’s winter-sky eyes, back to normal but looking completely lost.

 

“What is it?”

 

“That shouldn’t have worked,” Bucky said, looking down at his hands. “I shouldn’t have been able to even get in there, let alone work magic.”

 

“But… that’s a good thing, right?”

 

Bucky shook his head like he was shaking out his thoughts. “Yeah, I guess.”

 

“Can I just ask,” Clint started from behind Bucky. “Where the hell are we?” 

 

Steve turned his attention away from Bucky, and froze. Rolling out in front and behind him was a copper bridge, shining like a brand new penny in the sun, and all around for miles and miles were fluffy, wispy blankets of cloud.

 

“That’s the border of the Shadow World,” Bucky was saying to Clint, indicating to one side where the bridge met land. “This bridge leads to a stepping off point, a halfway place. That’s where we’re headed.”

 

The destination in question seemed to be a sandy, barren, desert. Steve sighed. The sight was far from inviting, but it wasn’t the Shadow World so nobody would catch him complaining.

 

“Bridges are important in your world,” Bucky said, “They connect people. But here, it’s like… this bridge is a last breath of happiness on the way to the Shadow World. A bit like the Bridge of Sighs in your world.”

 

"In Venice,” Wanda whispered to Clint with a tiny teasing smile.

 

He gave her a narrow-eyed sideways look, and smirked. “I knew that.”      

 

Bucky leaned his elbows on the copper rail, looking out across the blue with its foaming waves of white. “It’s a beautiful view of what you can no longer have.”

 

Steve wanted to reach out and touch him, his words were so despondent, but Bucky was already moving through the group and pointing out a distant misty blue planet.

 

“Over there are ‘The Nine’. You’ll probably recognize them from Norse mythology which calls them the ‘Nine Worlds’. That’s Nifleheim. The red one is Muspelheimv, and the one with the rainbow is Asgard.”

 

It was a breath-stealing, beautiful sight. The rainbow was vibrant with concentrated bursts of color that streamed across the sky with promise.

 

“They’re not all as pretty as they look,” Bucky said.

 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “They can’t be worse than here.”

 

Bucky’s eyes slid his way. “Hard to imagine somewhere worse than the edge of hell, huh?”

 

Sam’s face softened with the beginning of a smile. “Something like that, yeah.”

 

They shared a glance and Steve’s gaze darted between them. He felt like he was balanced on a thin wire of a peace treaty, a fine sheet of glass that may or may not prove strong enough to bear the weight of all three of them.

 

“There’s Earth,” Sam said.

 

Bucky followed his line of sight and was quiet for a long moment. The only sound was Tony and Natasha talking quietly in the background as Bucky gazed off at the distant little blue-green planet like he was weighing up what he wanted to say, and whether he actually wanted to say it.

 

“It’s Earth. But it’s not yours,” was all he said. 

 

At a break in the cloud, they could look back down over the Shadow World; a muted grey and black patchwork quilt. It was a world pieced together with discarded beauty, cast out places and forgotten things, condemned to shade and obscurity.

 

And it was changing quickly.

 

On their left a cove was forming in front of their eyes. Wrecked on the rocks, boats had fallen prey and a huge beast of a ship was beached, battered and broken into a jagged jaw of wood. A slightly smaller vessel was upturned, rusting and corroding away with gaping holes like rotting souls.

 

Steve’s eyes darted to Peggy just as she stepped back into the crowd, and he didn’t miss the wince or the way her hands balled into fists. 

 

Before he could go to her, he felt a sudden wave of energy, a flood of anxiety that wasn’t his own, and a split second later he saw Bucky’s spine snap straight. He was looking between Peggy, the shipwreck cove and the direction they needed to go in, which had suddenly grown wild into a dense forest.

 

_**“We may have a problem.”** _

 

Steve’s body tensed as he watched Bucky’s face carefully blank away all of the emotions that Steve could feel.

 

“Did somebody read ' _Kinder- und Hausmärchen'_ as a child?” Bucky asked, voice neutral.

 

There was a confused silence in which everyone looked at everyone else, then Natasha spoke, voice clear and head high. “Yes.”

 

Tony frowned. “Excuse me, what?” 

 

Watching Natasha carefully, Bucky said, “Grimm’s fairytales.” 

 

Natasha’s mouth opened slightly, then closed again. It looked like she was picking her words carefully. “They fascinated me.”

 

Steve suspected that the reality could be described using a different verb entirely.

 

“We’re taking too long,” Bucky said urgently.

 

“The others know we’re here?” Sam asked.

 

“Possibly. But the game definitely does. Once the game starts it will follow the players until it’s finished.”

 

Peggy kept her eyes on Bucky. “And we still have one more nightmare.”

 

Bucky sighed, his eyes flicking to Steve. “Yes. We need to keep ahead of it.”

 

Sharing swift glances, the group wordlessly followed Bucky across the bridge.

 

“I hate this place,” Tony grumbled.

 

~

 

As they moved through the forest, it thickened and darkened. Steve led, and Bucky occasionally broke the tense quiet with directions. They crunched over auburn oak leaves, slippery moss and through shallow streams stained a ruddy red from peat. It was a well trodden path that had worn its way into creation, scarred its way onto the landscape.

 

It was immediately obvious when they’d reached their destination, because it was shimmering with magic.

 

An ancient stone building loomed up over them, concealed for the most part by ivy and lichen, and almost entirely consumed by an enormous tangled tree root. There was something different in its magic, like an ancient knowledge and spirituality emanated from it.

 

“It was made as a replica temple,” Bucky said as he walked inside. “Ironically enough.”

 

Inside it was warmer and drier than Steve had imagined. Bucky had immediately put a barrier up around the room, protecting and warming them in a bubble of golden sunbeams. 

 

He said very little as the rest of them explored the temple, speaking only to call Steve before he headed down a set of heavy stone steps into a cave below. 

 

It was brighter than any cave Steve had ever seen, and brighter still than some of the most vivid of art pieces. Five tablets of luminous color were informally set into the cave walls, and Steve felt almost consumed with the need to admire all of them in turn.

 

“Each one is a life,” Bucky said from over Steve’s shoulder, making his heart leap into his throat. “Every shadow man has a tablet. It’s how we’re created. It’s how we’re erased.”

 

Ignoring the electric spark of pain in his chest, Steve looked closely at the tablets and saw that each one had a name. They were clumsily etched, like the very act was rough and brutal. Not a celebration of the creation of life, but a prophecy, a scar on the world.

 

“I’ll use the power in the stones to create the portal,” Bucky said. He pulled four of the tablets off the wall, sparing only a second to look at the names of the lives he was going to take. “I never liked them anyway.”

 

Steve barely blinked. When the lives of his friends and Bucky were at stake, he couldn’t bring himself to sympathize with four unknown demons, especially if Brock was the best of all of them. 

 

The tablet that was left was brighter than the rest, and was bursting inside like a supernova. It was the exact color of Bucky’s eyes, and was carved with the word _‘James’_.

 

Steve ran his fingertips over the stone, watching it light up in the wake of his touch. He hadn’t known Bucky as James since the games store. “He who supplants,” he muttered, remembering Bucky’s words.

 

“He doesn’t supplant anymore,” Bucky said with a crooked smile and a little bit of wistfulness in his eyes. “I haven’t been James for years.”

 

Steve looked at him. 

 

He smiled wryly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “I didn’t want to be him anymore, so I gave myself a new name.”

 

Steve was desperate to show his pride, but he worried that Bucky would find it condescending. He hid his face by turning back to the tablet, although he was almost positive Bucky would be able to feel the emotion anyway. Steve felt like he was bursting with it. 

 

“It just says, _‘James’_. What’s your second name?”

 

There was a beat of silence in which Steve thought he was being ignored, then Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know.”

 

“You’ve never had a surname?”

 

“Aren’t two names enough?” He walked to the centre of the room and placed the tablets in a semblance of a circle. “If I had one, I don’t remember it. I don’t think any of us have surnames. Would it make you happier it I had one?”

 

“I think Bucky suits you just fine. But if you want one, you should give yourself one.”

 

Bucky suddenly looked up at him with shy eyes. “Why are you doing this?” he asked softly, looking as though it hurt to voice the question. “You shouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

 

Steve pulled a face at him, unimpressed, because if Bucky thought he’d break through Steve’s determination and unwavering loyalty, he hadn’t been watching him closely enough for the last decade. 

 

Bucky huffed a laugh, perhaps thinking the same thing. “You’d let me drag you down to hell wouldn’t you?” 

 

His tone was playful, but Steve heard the truth in the statement. He would. He’d go to hell with Bucky and he wouldn’t need dragging.

 

“There are lots of them by the way,” Bucky said, eyes ticking absently over the stones. “I can take my pick of any number of hells. But you deserve a heaven. Not many do.”

 

“Sounds pretty lonely.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “Peggy will be there.”

 

A startled laugh fell from Steve’s lips and he nodded. He’d never heard anything truer in his life.

 

“I meant what I said to Tony,” Bucky said. “I’m not a shadow man anymore. I don’t know what I am, but I know _who_ I am. And who I belong to.

 

I chose a new name the day I saw you. Nobody else saw you right – they thought you were just a mess of a kid, the one in the shadows. They didn’t realize that you were the sun, that you made the others shine with you. Like stars.” Bucky turned to meet Steve’s gaze. “I knew your light was never really meant to touch me, but I tried to be better just in case I could earn it.” 

 

Steve took a step forward and tilted Bucky’s chin with one hand. With the other, he painted an invisible star on Bucky’s cheek with his thumb.  _ **“You didn’t need to earn it.”**_

 

Bucky sighed and his eyes slid shut. “They wanted me on the Council, to make me more powerful. You can’t imagine how consuming the lure of power can be, and I wanted it. But I wanted something else more. I wanted to be the James that existed in other worlds.

 

And then later, I wanted you. I wanted you more than anything else. More than any shadow man wanted anything. But I still wanted that power, just for a moment, and faced with that offer was like balancing on tip-toes at the mouth of hell.” His beautiful face crumpled and he looked at Steve with wide eyes. “I nearly jumped in Steve. What if I’d jumped in?” 

 

Steve ran a hand across Bucky's jaw and wondered if he could draw away the feeling of hopelessness. “But you didn’t. You wouldn’t have done.”

 

Bucky stared away, unable or unwilling to meet his eyes anymore. “We’ll do this upstairs,” he said abruptly.

 

“Wait! Hey, Bucky." Steve wrapped his hand around a slim wrist. “Wait, just….” He took a quick breath, relieved that Bucky had stopped, and remembering the question he needed to ask. “If the spell drains you, and you need help, will I hear you? Will you still be able to talk to me?”

 

Bucky nodded. “Our connection isn’t through my magic. It’s something different. Something more.”

 

Steve regarded him with sharp eyes. “You know more about what’s going on between us than you’ve said, don’t you?”

 

“Steve, this isn’t the time,” Bucky sighed.

 

“I want to know what’s going on, Bucky. None of this makes any sense. I’m... me, and you’re a demon.”

 

Bucky balked, practically ripping himself out of Steve’s hold when he'd said the word _‘demon’_. At first glance his eyes looked cold, but they weren’t, they were just impossibly sad.

 

“No, I didn’t mean it like that-”

 

“What does it matter?” Bucky rasped. “You're right. Soon you’ll be home, and I’ll be here, speaking words into your head that you can’t hear. That you won’t _care_ that you can’t hear. So what does any of it matter?” 

 

Steve felt like his chest was so tight he was surprised air was making it into his lungs. “You said you’d visit.”

 

“You know I won’t be able to.”

 

The moment was weighted, and Steve would always remember it as the moment he decided that Bucky would be going home with him. 

 

If Steve hadn’t known it before, he knew it now, with certainty and with bile in his mouth because he hated this world. A world that sought to snuff out the only flame in its darkness. Bucky was the color in a palatte of shade and slaughter, and he didn’t belong there. No matter how hard Steve's conscience screamed that he was being selfish, and no matter how true Sam’s lecture had been, Bucky was his own person with his own desires and if he wanted it, Steve would give him everything.

 

In the end, the words were the easiest to say. They’d been waiting to be spoken for so long, they flew off his lips. "Come back with us.”

 

Bucky’s eyes snapped to his.

 

“I mean, if that’s what you want. You should come with us.”

 

The hope burnt out of Bucky’s eyes quicker that it had come. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I can’t.”

 

“What you want is exactly what matters.”

 

Bucky barked a humorless laugh. "Because you're so good at following that philosophy yourself."

 

"Bucky-"

 

“Steve, please don’t.”

 

It was probably as close as a demon came to begging. Bucky clearly didn’t want to be fed what he saw as false hope, he didn’t want to be tempted into thinking he could have something he felt he didn’t deserve.

 

“You don’t believe that there’s always a happy ending, so why do you insist everyone should have one? I’ll make this right, then that’s the end of it.”

 

“The end of it?”

 

Bucky said nothing. He just averted his gaze, but it was answer enough.

 

Steve went to hold him, armed with clumsy words to try and change his mind, but Bucky was a step ahead of him, pulling back and sharpening his voice. “Please don’t do this to me, Steve. You don’t know what you’re asking. It hurts to know I can never have you. Don’t torment me with the idea of it.”

 

“Bucky, that’s not what I’m doing. You can come with me. _**Will you? Please?”**_

 

He was waiting for the answer to drop into his mind, but Bucky was holding back, glaring at him. Steve didn’t need the words anyway. They were clear for anyone to hear.

 

“Why won’t you? Why stay here, Buck?”

 

“I can’t live anywhere else! My sins are like a stain on my soul and I’ll never wash them off. I can’t be anything else. Just when I think I’ve found the tiniest bit of good in me, my darkness pulls me down again.”

 

“You’re stronger than your demons.”

 

“I don’t have demons,” Bucky seethed. “I _am_ one.”

 

“Don’t say that.”

 

Bucky stared at him incredulous and clenched his fists in front of him. In the moments before he spoke, his emotions settled into a cold, heartbroken rage. “It’s what you said, Steve.”

 

Steve’s heart braced, and his hands flew out instinctively, but Bucky was already walking away. The guilt ached in his chest, but anger was swelling up too.

 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Steve’s voice was pitched low, urgent with anger and hurt and guilt. “I know you. I see you. And I-”

 

Bucky faltered slightly. Waiting. The words were on the tip of Steve’s tongue, sitting there ready to open his heart, but they were heavy and cloying in his mouth, weighed down with emotions layered on emotions, heartbreak on top of heartbreak.  

 

When the words didn’t come, Bucky started walking again, and Steve watched him go. He just watched him go.

 

~

 

The silent treatment was worse when there were two ways you could ignore someone.

 

They were back upstairs and Bucky was putting more energy than necessary into arranging the stones and spell books. It was hard for Steve to tell if he’d always planned to do the spell there or if he just wanted space and the relative anonymity of a group.

 

Refusing to speak to each other, audibly or otherwise, Steve kept his eyes on Bucky, waiting for him to eventually give in and meet his gaze. They both tried to act as though nothing was wrong, but the emotions that roiled in the energy between them, surging back and forth angrily across their connection in the same way they roiled and surged in Steve’s stomach, proved them both to be liars.

 

Clint approached Bucky as he pulled the dagger from the bag and placed it on the floor by the stones.

 

“Shouldn’t Hunter be here?”

 

“She’s outside, watching. She'll let us know if the others come. They know we have Wanda and they’ll probably want her back. She technically belongs to the Shadow World now.”

 

Wanda fidgeted on her stone perch, watching her own hands as she tapped her fingertips against her thumbs, one after the other, before repeating the sequence.

 

Sam walked forward a step. “If they arrive before you can open the portal, can you kill them?”

 

“No,” Bucky answered. “And not out of some twisted family loyalty, but because I physically can’t.”

 

“But what about your magic?” Wanda asked. 

 

“Smoke and mirrors. It’s all just party tricks compared to their power. I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to cast this spell. If they get here before you’re through the portal - if I can even make the portal, that is - then it's game over. ”

 

“And there was me thinking _‘game over’_ was what we wanted,” Tony said, but it was surprisingly amiable. “Will there be enough power in those?”

 

Bucky looked down at the two tablets, but Natasha was the one to speak.

 

“James,” she said. “You know what could happen. Do we need to be prepared?”

 

Steve looked at Bucky, then at Natasha, taking in the way she was looking at Bucky like she knew something the others didn’t.

 

“In case it’s not enough power?” Steve asked.

 

Natasha turned to him. “In case it’s too much.”

 

“That doesn’t sound good,” Clint muttered.

 

“What she’s trying to say,” Bucky said, voice like velvet over steel. “Is that if I pull in too much power, I might not be able to control it.”

 

“What I _am_ saying is that he probably _won’t_ be able to control it.” Her gaze when she looked back at Bucky was almost sympathetic. “I’m sorry, but we need to know what we’re dealing with, and that book was very clear about what happens when you play with dark magic.”

 

“Come on, Nat,” Sam said. “Just say it.”

 

“It will turn him dark with it.”

 

“No,” Bucky snapped. “It won’t.”

 

“But you don’t know that,” Natasha said. 

 

Steve caught Peggy’s gaze just as she opened her mouth to speak. “He may have to do it anyway.”

 

Bucky froze, eyes downcast. When he looked up his expression was crushed steel.

 

“If it means getting out of here, we’re going to need James, not Bucky," Peggy continued. "We’ll need the demon.”

 

Steve took a deep breath, looked in Bucky’s direction, and said, “No. Bucky, if it gets too much, you have to stop.”

 

“And if he doesn’t stop in time?” Tony said. “We get obliterated.”

 

“That’s enough,” Steve said sharply. “Nobody’s dying. Nobody’s turning evil.”

 

Bucky’s eyes flicked to him for the first time since they came out of the cellar. 

 

“Give me the book,” Natasha insisted with her hand out. 

 

Bucky pulled it further behind himself.

 

“That’s what I thought. This is dark power. Black magic.”

 

“I can handle it.”

 

“Can you?” she demanded. “I’m not calling you out here, Bucky. I know you’ll try your best, for Steve if not for the rest of us, but with all the best of intentions, there are some things you can’t control.”

 

A golden halo shook around Bucky’s body, but Steve felt pain not anger.

 

“If he can’t,” Wanda started, cautiously, “And the portal’s created, but he’s consumed by it, will he go back to normal afterwards?”

 

“We don’t know,” Natasha said. “And what happens if he doesn’t?”

 

Steve held Sam’s gaze long enough to see his dark eyes order, _‘Don’t you do it, Rogers’._

 

Steve didn't blink. “Then I’ll stay here and bring him back.”

 

Bucky stared at him.

 

So did Tony. “You think you can control him if he turns evil?!”

 

“No. And I don’t want to. But I can bring him back. Remind him who he is.”

 

“The point is,” Peggy said, voice crystal clear over the chaos of raised voices. “If he doesn’t even try, then we’re going nowhere, and we all die. Including James.”

 

“I agree,” Nat replied. “But we need a plan just in case.”

 

Steve felt a jolt, a clicking into place of a half formed thought, a decision that wasn’t his own.

 

_**“Bucky!”** _

 

But when Steve turned, it was already done. Bucky had snatched up the knife from the floor and in the same breath, ripped it across his left forearm. Blood spilt in a gush of red, waterfalling down his skin.

 

“What are you doing?" Clint yelled, face a picture of horror.

 

“Starting the spell. They’re coming and we don’t have time for a consultation.”

 

“No! I mean, what are you doing to your arm?!” 

 

“The spell starts with blood.”

 

Clint made a little high pitched noise then took a deep breath. “Always blood."

 

Bucky knelt down and placed two of the stones in front of him, the third he left to the side. He scratched the dagger point across the inscription, drawing a line of his own blood on the stone, and did the same on the other. 

 

Steve stared down, waiting for a sign of the lives that had been crossed out. There was nothing, not a sound or a tremble, and considering that the action had marked the end of two lives, it was remarkably underwhelming. 

 

Placing a hand on each tablet, Bucky inhaled deeply and started to read. The foreign words sounded natural on Bucky’s tongue.

 

“Is that Latin?” Peggy asked when he'd finished.

 

“Yeah,” he replied on a sigh, looking anxiously at the stones where nothing was happening. “I hope this works. My pronunciation’s a little off.”

 

“Well it obviously got the gist,” Clint commented, wide eyed as he watched the tablets start to glow.

 

They trembled next, like the ground underneath them was vibrating, making them quake like caged animals fighting free, and wispy black ribbons started to creep up Bucky’s fingers, winding up his arms and sinking into his skin.

 

Bucky gasped. 

 

And so did Steve. He hadn’t realized until now that he could measure Bucky’s magic. The energy that zipped in the air between them had always been constant. Now it wavered, then swelled, and Steve felt the dizzy rush of power he’d felt wrapped in fur blankets with Bucky grinding beneath him on the astrology platform.

 

When his head adjusted and his vision re-centered, he looked up to see Bucky’s eyes staring back at him, pupil’s solid gold. Tiny rivers of black were snaking under his skin, like ink had spilled into his veins.

 

Hands braced against the tablets, Bucky gave out orders that nobody thought to question. “Spread out around the perimeter, but stay inside the walls. Hunter will keep watch with you. I’ll complete the spell.” He paused, eyes flashing bullion. “Tony, I need your help.”

 

“Good luck with that,” Clint snarked under his breath, moving away to take position with Sam, Wanda and Peggy.

 

As the others dispersed, Tony moved towards Bucky with wary eyes, but Natasha was there first, kneeling next to Bucky.

 

“No hard feelings?”

 

“No,” Bucky said with a hint of a smirk. “I’ll even tell you where the weapons are kept-”

 

“I already found them.”

 

Bucky snorted. “You don’t disappoint. Did you find the present for Clint?”

 

“You bet.”  She moved away and Steve followed her.

 

“I know you usually fight with fists,” she said, handing him a knife. “But I think you’re gonna need this.”

 

Turning to answer her, Steve’s attention was caught by the drift of Bucky’s conversation behind him. He’d moved far enough away that he shouldn’t have been able to hear, but the words seemed magnified, like the connection between them was boosted by the power Bucky was taking from the tablets.

 

_“Does Steve know you’re asking me to do this?”_

_“No.”_

_“Jesus, Twilight. He’s not gonna be happy.”_

_“Which is why I’m not asking him, Tony. I’m asking you. If I lose it, you stab me, you cover my tablet in blood, and you score a line through my name.”_

The tense silence felt hot in Steve’s ears.

 

_“I’m not going to kill you.”_

_“You will. I don’t care how it weighs on your conscience, you will... because if you don’t, I’ll kill you,” Bucky choked out. “And Sam, and Wanda, and every one of them until I get to Steve, and I’ll kill him too, because I won’t be able to stop myself.”_

 

Steve could hear Tony swallow. _“How will I know if it's time?”_

_“You’ll know.”_

Steve turned, tensing his muscles to stop him storming between them and grabbing the tablet from Tony’s hands. But this was Bucky’s failsafe, and it was Bucky’s decision, however much the thought hurt him.

 

Bucky was already reading the spell again, not willing to waste any more time. The group fell to silence, watching Bucky from different points around the temple, as he read and read, and squirms of black writhed under his skin.

 

When he took a final breath and panted, “That’s the end, but I don’t know if-”, the tablets under his hands exploded in a maelstrom of sparks, throwing him back.

 

Instead of burning out, the sparks germinated, growing into a swarm of metal fragments like dark black diamonds glinting in the light. The mass condensed then splintered apart into a cascading constellation. It hung in the air, poised to collapse or attack, and the sound it made was a thundering roar.

 

Bucky grabbed at the bag of runes, spilled them out in front of the remains of the tablets. He scowled and shook his head.

 

“It’s not enough,” he yelled over the snarling specter. 

 

“Bucky-”

 

Bucky eyed the third tablet, and even through the flood of gold, Steve could see the way he assessed it; the tipping point before a breaking point, before a fall to damnation.

 

“Bucky, don’t-”

 

But Bucky was. He grasped the stone and ripped the knife over it before Steve could pull him back.

 

“Stay away!” Bucky shouted just as the murmeration of black sparks jumped on him.

 

Steve dropped to his knees in front of Bucky, gaping in horror as dark magic pushed against him, bled into his skin. And Bucky’s yell turned into a scream.

 

Steve wanted to gather it up, take Bucky’s pain and make it his own.

 

But then there were other screams too, coming from all around the temple, and a crashing down of stone. 

 

Steve whipped his head around to see the last of the east wall fall. Tony and Wanda leapt back, taking cover on the other side of Bucky’s circle of magic.

 

Then, he heard a low growl behind him, saw the way Sam's wild eyes stared over Steve’s shoulder, and turned to see Bucky's eyes turn the color of old blood, and to feel the cold metal sting of Bucky's dagger at his throat.

 

Dead ahead, Tony was holding Bucky’s tablet. “Steve…”

 

“No Tony, don’t you fucking dare!” Steve shouted. He gasped a breath and softened his voice. “Bucky.”

 

Bucky was unnaturally pale. An almost transparent light gray smoke played across his features. It hollowed his cheeks and darkened his eyes to evil. Light glinted off the dagger and flashed off his canines as he growled low in his throat, pressing himself forward and the knife harder until the blade bit into Steve’s skin.

  

“Steve, they’re here!” Wanda cried.

 

Outside, the light had been turned out, but there was enough of a glow from six magical auras that Steve could make out the dark forms of their masters as they stood in the ruin and rubble. Behind them stood row upon row of more shadow men.

 

Someone said, “James”, but Steve didn’t turn around. He kept his eyes locked with Bucky’s. The power flowing in and out of him rose in twisting swirls of black. Drops fell onto the floor and spread like ink on wet paper.

 

“Bucky.”

 

Another hiss from behind: “James.”

 

**_“Bucky.”_ **

 

Something flickered on Bucky’s face and the pressure eased a fraction on his neck. “Steve?”

 

Steve wanted to laugh in relief, wanted to pull Bucky to him. “Come on, Buck. Where’s my portal, huh?”

 

The ground behind Bucky crumpled in and a whipping cyclone started to gather speed.

 

“James. Just look at you,” an icy voice snarled.

 

It was a cruel voice and it grated like barbs pulling against Steve's skin. Every word dragged through his mind, and he felt cold. So cold... and hollow, like the hope was draining out of him. This must be one of the elders.

 

Steve turned, heart thundering. The owner of the voice wasn’t much to look at. He was the likeness of every average middle-aged man Steve had ever seen. If he was any normal man, Steve would have the upper hand - he was taller and outweighed him in muscle - but this wasn’t just a man.

 

He walked past the other shadow men, making spines snap straight and commanding gazes that were reverent, blanketed in gold magic that seemed to possess even the words he spoke.

 

Steve had always thought gold meant good. 

 

 ** _“Gold is not good,”_** Bucky hissed into his head, because Steve had apparently pushed the thought to Bucky in his panic. **_“It’s not anything. It just is.”_**

 

That actually made sense in a way that nothing made sense anymore. 

 

The portal was rabid now and Bucky was commanding the others to jump. Wanda, then Sam, then Tony. Before Steve’s relief could even take hold, the elder was speaking again.

 

“You think I care if they leave? I want you…and I want him.”

 

The elder raised a hand and Steve’s vision flashed white, diamond bright and blinding. A pain like needles on every inch of skin took hold of him.

 

He heard sharp voices, Clint loosing an arrow, the thud of a knife hitting home. And somewhere in the chaos, the pain lessened for a fraction of a moment. It was long enough to see the approach of the first line of shadow men.

 

He knew what Bucky was going to do the instant before he did it. When his hand slammed against Steve’s abdomen, where Bucky had said the strongest magic stemmed from, he thought he was passing out. All of his energy flowed out, unlocked, smashed apart and drawn out of him by Bucky’s connection.

 

Bucky threw his hand to the ground, flexed his fingers and the world ruptured. The nearest shadow men evaporated into the air like they’d simply been unmade. There was a sound like the rip of flesh and the snap of bone.

 

“Get them out of here, Steve!” Bucky growled. His hair had come loose, falling forward on his face in dark strands.

 

Natasha looked at Steve, knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere, nodded and pulled Clint into the portal.

 

The elder looked around himself in amusement as another dozen shadow men settled into the dust on the floor.

 

“Destroy as many as you want. This is what you were made for. See what you’re capable of, James?” 

 

Bucky whimpered, horrified by the words.

 

“This is what you really are. You can’t change your very nature.”

 

**_“Bucky.”_ **

 

When their eyes met, Bucky’s face was feral with darkness, eyes consumed with red. Steve could feel the self-loathing radiating off of him in waves.

 

_**“Don’t look at me.”** _

 

If Bucky expected him to balk, to turn away in horror and renounce him, he didn’t know Steve very well.

 

“You’re coming with us, Bucky.  I don’t leave the people I love.”

 

Bucky stared at him, eyes wide and red receding until the gold returned. Then Bucky had two hands on his chest and Steve was falling back into the whip of the portal.

 

He could remember screaming out at Bucky desperately, with rage and pain and with all the energy he had left. Then he was taken down in a black riptide, into a painful silence that pierced his ears, and his vision blacked out.

 

~

 

Steve came round to the sound of a door banging shut and the crash of a bolt being thrown home. He kept his eyes closed. Like a changing tide, he drifted. Lulled in the ebb and flow of energy returning.

 

He might have dreamt. The dream - if it was a dream - was of a demon, one who wasn’t really a demon at all. A man who had eyes the color of the skies in winter, who’s hands created magic that hummed happily against his skin. But one who couldn’t walk in the light, and one that Steve had left behind.

 

Steve’s body drew in on itself, bracing against the pain. He dragged his fingernails through the thread of a carpet. His carpet, beige and worn and Brooklyn.

 

In the relative quiet that came next, his friends’ hushed voices were reassuring. A question asked by Natasha, a reply from Sam, a curse from Tony. Steve was relieved, because they were all safe, but he wouldn’t open his eyes; the pain in his head was too sharp, his heart too broken.

 

_**“Steve?”** _

 

For the longest of moments he thought the honey rippling in his mind was an echo from a memory, or a futile attempt by his brain to mend the split of his heart. 

 

But then he felt Bucky’s energy in the room, could hear the strong beat of Bucky’s heart and the speeding of his pulse, even before he knew without doubt that Bucky was really there because his hand was stroking up the curve of Steve’s spine and across his bare neck, and igniting Steve’s blood with magic.

 

Steve threw himself onto his back, and opened his eyes.

 

Bucky was leaning over him, grinning, and Steve grabbed him, pulled him off balance until he dropped down onto Steve’s chest with a laugh. Steve held him and whispered his name into his head, holding him like he was fragile and precious, but knowing that he didn’t need it; Bucky was strong, brave and good. 

 

When Bucky pulled back, Steve noticed the shaft of morning sunlight that caressed Bucky’s cheek.

 

“What?” Bucky asked, pulling his hand to his face as though he was worried that Steve was still seeing black in his veins and blood in his eyes.

 

“The sun,” Steve said. “You’re in the sunlight.”

 

Bucky looked around himself, turned his hand in the light. His smile was as bright as the shimmer of sun on his skin.

 

Steve reached up and twisted a wayward wisp of Bucky’s still-long hair around his fingers, and the brunet raised his eyebrows with an unspoken question.

 

“I like your hair like this,” Steve said, letting the strands fall and feather around Bucky's chin.

 

“Me too. I guess it stays.”

 

Steve smiled. “You stay.”

 

“Yeah?” Bucky said through a little laugh.

 

“You’ve got to earn your keep though,” Steve said with a teasing smile.

 

Bucky flexed his fingers surreptitiously, experimentally, and the discarded pizza boxes on the floor disappeared.

 

He shrugged, grin adorably smug. “Alright.”

 

“Hey,” Clint heckled, from the sofa. “Bring back the pizza!”

 

With a jolt, Steve remembered the rest of the room.  

 

Natasha was stood by the door, watching them with soft eyes. Clint, Wanda and Tony were sat on one sofa, and Sam and Peggy were on the other. They were all looking down at Steve and Bucky on the floor with a sort of fond amusement.

 

Steve cleared his throat and sat up. “Everyone okay?”

 

Despite the chorus of positive responses, Steve couldn’t help checking over each of them. He took in the way their bodies and souls were battered black and blue. The way Natasha stood guard in front of the door, how Clint could barely take his eyes off her for a second, the clench of Sam’s hands as he resisted the urge to press the dog tags into his fist, and the haunted glaze in Wanda’s eyes. Even Peggy was shaking slightly, hiding it as best she could, and Tony had been much quieter, not quite himself - or maybe more himself - since his nightmare.

 

Steve wondered how the hell they’d ever completely heal from this.

 

Eventually, Sam broke the soft hush. “Will they come after us?”

 

Bucky looked up at where the portal had opened up. Now the ceiling was as flat and apathetic as it had ever been.

 

“Only if they think it’s worth their while. If anything takes much effort, they won’t do it. They might leave us be.”

 

Sam looked at him. "Who _was_ that guy?"

 

"Alexander," Bucky replied quietly. "He's an elder."

 

"It seemed like he knew you."

 

"Yeah, he knows me," Bucky sighed. "He created me."

 

Steve ran his thumb over Bucky's knuckles. His eyes settled on the paper house, which sat on the old coffee table like a sinister omen.

 

“Did we win or lose?” Wanda asked quietly.

 

Like a shadow creeping over his vision, Steve realized that there wasn’t a winner or loser - literal or metaphorical - because they hadn’t finished the game. Steve hadn’t faced his nightmare, and Bucky’s words on the bridge spun in his head.  

 

_\- Once the game starts it will follow the players until it’s finished._

 

The game surely couldn’t span across the worlds, and yet Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that it was waiting, that the sleek black games box was still humming for him.

 

“Well, we certainly didn’t win,” Tony was saying. “And I have never lost a game before. What do you say we never play it again?”

 

Clint laughed with a nervous edge. “So, what’s next?”

 

“Ceremonial burning of the paper house?” Natasha suggested from the door.

 

“The world’s worst comedown,” Bucky moaned, rubbing his temples. 

 

“I’m sleeping. And I’m not waking for anyone, or anything,” Sam said with a yawn. “Unless it's pancakes with maple syrup and bacon.”

 

The sun played through Bucky’s fingers as he reveled in the heat on his skin. Steve took his other hand in his, felt the thrum of Bucky’s energy which had settled back into his normal flow of magic.

 

Bucky hummed contentedly into Steve’s mind then whistled through his teeth. Hunter emerged from where she’d apparently been hiding inside Steve’s lampshade, flapping to Bucky’s shoulder and tipping her head in Steve’s direction.

 

“It’s good to see you, Hunter, but you have to change. You can’t be an owl here.”

 

Bucky glared with mock offence. “Such bigotry.”

 

“I can’t have an owl as a pet. It’s not normal.”

 

“It’s not normal to have a demon as a-” Bucky cut himself off with a shuddering inhale. “Umm… friend.” 

 

_**“You can say it, Bucky.”** _

__

_**“Boyfriend?”** _

 

“Boyfriend.”

 

Bucky’s eyes darted about as though he didn’t think Steve had meant to say the word out loud. Steve just smiled, and Sam shook his head with a weary resignation, but he was smiling too.

 

“There’s a spare key under the mat,” Tony said, offhand. “Although you probably know that.”

 

“There’s a spare key?” Wanda asked.

 

“Like you didn’t know,” Clint snorted. “You just like picking locks.”

 

She grinned.

 

Hunter’s wing beats were loud as Bucky encouraged her to the floor. “Alright, you heard him.”

 

She shifted into husky form and nudged her nose into Steve’s palm.

 

“How’d you feel about dogs?” Bucky asked with a smirk, sidling up into Steve’s arms.

 

Steve smiled, but couldn’t stop his eyes flicking to the game.

 

“What is it?”

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

And he realized that it really didn’t. Not in that moment. Not when Bucky was curled into his side and the sun played at his feet. 

 

There was a game in his apartment that didn’t belong, but Bucky did. So Steve just held on, and held on tight. 

 

Natasha was crushing the game, pulling it apart and Tony was helping. The dismantled remains felt like the first move in a new game, a new life, because their old lives just wouldn’t fit them anymore.

 

But if they took each day with cautious baby steps, then maybe time was the game that would heal them. One step at a time, one move after another, they’d move forward, playing the hands they were dealt and hoping they always threw up hearts. 

 

~

 

**Notes:**

**I have a sequel for this fic in my head,  so if people would like to see one, I'd happily write it :)**

  * **Chapter definition. Metagame:** To use reasons not strictly related to the game at hand to change one’s playing style and attitude towards other players
  * As always, I'd absolutely love to know what you think! Comments and kudos are life.
  * Please also feel free to come say hi on [Tumblr](http://little-lottie.tumblr.com/)




	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full poems, lyrics and sequel snippets

**Sequel snippets**

Bucky was tapping a slow, steady rhythm against Steve's flank with two purposeful, but gentle fingers. After half a minute of watching curiously, during which time Bucky offered no explanation as to why he was playing percussion on Steve's skin, Steve realized that he was drumming out an echo of Steve's heart.

 

Bucky could hear the beat because he was a demon. He could _feel_ it because he was Steve's.

 

Bucky smiled softly at him through long, mascara-thick lashes which fluttered as he blinked, sex-lazy and intimate. And Steve was in love. He hadn't properly said it yet, but he would. Maybe when Bucky wasn't listening so intently to the telltale tempo of his heartbeat.

 

Steve half smothered his grin into the pillow because Bucky could feel every sappy, syrup-laden emotion that was reopening parts of his heart that he'd kept locked tight since his mom died, and Steve'd be damned if Bucky needed to see it too. The teasing would be relentless.

 

The connection they had was growing stronger. There was no place to hide. Steve felt laid bare and open, vulnerable and young. But he wasn't scared. He felt stronger than he'd ever been. And he wasn't alone. Bucky was with him, whispering words that flowed like caramel kisses into his head, letting Steve read his emotions, transparent and enduring as a book from Bucky's library. Bucky was a constant and reassuring brightness; gold dust in Steve's veins.

 

When Steve withdrew from the pillow to breathe, almost positive that he'd got a handle on his sappy smile, Bucky was still mirroring Steve's heartbeat with even raps against Steve's side and he was shaking his head very slowly, amused and indulgent.

 

**_Yo_** ** _u're so cute when you're shy._** Bucky's unspoken words were warm as they softly dropped into Steve's mind.

 

Steve gave him the finger because he didn't have a witty response or a legitimate argument for the defense. It was love; Bucky had to know that. But no matter how much he wanted to say the words, he couldn't help but think that they would blow down this house of cards they'd so tentatively stacked. But Bucky had to know, especially if his handsome-as-the-devil grin was anything to go by.

 

Steve found himself turning his head back towards the mattress when he felt that goofy smile started tugging at his lips again.

 

**_That pillow won't save you,_** Bucky chuckled.

 

Bucky grinned wider, eyes sparking, air around them humming with pleasure, and he darted forward to nip the finger Steve was so defiantly insulting him with.

 

"Save me from what? I've got nothing to hide.�"

 

Quick as anything, Bucky's tongue flicked between his teeth and kitten licked the pad of his fingertip. A hot lick of arousal fired across Steve's skin.  The beat of Bucky's fingers picked up a pace. Steve blushed as Bucky grinned at him and slipped a hand under the covers to wrap around Steve's hardening cock.

 

"Your heart rate's telling tales on you, Steve. It's telling me that you're either lying or," lip bite, "it's something,"� hand squeeze, "else."�

 

Steve laughed through a groan, a low gravelly noise that wiped some of the smile off Bucky's face and made the brunet flex his hips.

 

"Hearts aren't the only things that can't keep secrets,"� Steve teased back, encouraging Bucky into a slow grind against his thigh.

 

"Mmm. It knows what it wants. It's a brat that way."

 

~ 

 

**Poetry**

The following beautiful poems by @pencap are perfect for this story and I'm so grateful she's happy for me to include them here:

_if you remember nothing else, my child,_  
_remember this:_

_the devil does not always wear horns._  
_sometimes he wears the kind of face that belongs in storybooks_  
_and sometimes he wears angel wings and a halo like a costume_  
_waiting for the right moment to tear them off_

_the devil does not always come dressed in red._  
_sometimes he comes with slicked hair and a charming smile_  
_and sometimes he comes like a sniper shot in the night_  
_silent and unexpected and deadly_

_the devil does not always have bloody hands._  
_sometimes he has pretty fingers you’d love to watch playing a piano_  
_and sometimes he has calloused palms and strong fingers_  
_just big enough to wrap snug around your hands_

_the devil will not always drag you straight to Hell._  
_sometimes he’ll bring you roses laced with poison_  
_and sometimes he’ll promise you a dance for the stars to watch_  
_and then disappear like the wisp of a daydream_

_and sometimes, child,_  
_sometimes,_  
_you love the devil_  
_and the devil loves you back_

_\- and that is when you are truly damned[(@pencap)](http://pencap.tumblr.com/post/150423336430/if-you-remember-nothing-else-my-child-remember)_

 

Dear God,  
I know my fingertips are redder than my lips.  
I know my teeth are sharper than daggers.  
I know my eyes scare the stars away from the night.  
I know my voice wasn’t meant to speak your name.  
I know, God, I know.

Dear God,  
Didn’t you once say that we were all your children?  
Did that include me? Does it still?  
Do you still love me with my rattlesnake bones and haunted lungs?  
Or are you the kind of Father who turns away from his black sheep son?

Dear God,  
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.  
I’d understand if you walked away, you know.

Dear God,  
Did you know there was a time I hated you?  
Did you know there was a time I cursed your name?  
Did you know there was a time I was lost and cold and tired and afraid?  
Where were you then? Why didn’t you answer me?

Dear God,  
That was unfair. I’m sorry.  
Maybe it’s just me.  
Maybe I’m just blind and deaf and mute.  
Maybe I’m just never meant to meet you.

Dear God,  
He’s the closest I’ve ever felt to you.  
He speaks, and I hear your voice.  
He smiles, and I see your face.  
He holds me, and I swear I am blessed.  
They say you made him, just like you made everyone.  
So thank you.

Dear God,  
I know I am the demon haunting this world’s footsteps.  
I know my blood is tainted with smoke and venom.  
I know my lips are black and my bones are hellbound.  
I know it is blasphemy for me to want him.  
I know it is selfish. I know he deserves better.  
But God,  
Please let me have him.

Dear God,  
He still says my name like a prayer.  
I swear sometimes I can see my fingers leeching poison into his skin.  
I don’t care where my crumbling bones and aching soul end up,  
and I promise I’ll never ask for anything else.  
Please, let me be good for him.

it isn’t a question of  
how much you love him or  
how much he loves you or  
how much you need each other.

it isn’t a question of  
how strong your fingers are or  
how bright his smiles are or  
how crumbled both your bones are.

it’s just a question of  
how much the gods want him and  
how much the devil wants you and  
how much the earth wants you together.

it’s just a question of  
how much the gravity of his sun pulls at the stars in your chest  
how much stress the cord between you can stand before it snaps  
how much time your gravestone can weather alone


End file.
